The Chaplain's Log
by Angst Is My Middle Name
Summary: A series of stories about the ship's chaplain of the USS Enterprise, highlighting some first meetings and growing friendships. Features my OC Winifred 'Freddey' Mulcahy from 'Acts of Courage.' Formerly listed under 'The Sight of the Stars.' Notes inside.
1. The Sight of the Stars

_**I started this forever ago and then got very bad at updating, so I decided to fix it in anticipation of the new movie coming out soon. This used to be a series of short stories posted separately, but it has since occurred to me that they would work better as one longer, multichapter fic, so I am now reposting everything and will continue to update from this point.**_

* * *

Freddey Mulcahy had not gone through divinity school for a bachelor's and master's degree to wait tables in this podunk little diner and deal with drunk assholes trying to grope her. It was 2255. Why hadn't men stopped doing that? She was sick of swatting away hands and forcing smiles for the sake of her tips, but dammit if the study of religion didn't pay off until a person got a PhD. She didn't have the time for that. It just irritated her that all these bozos from the Philadelphia shipyard would come down, thinking they're all hot stuff because they get a decent wage and benefits and act like they're God's gift to the world. Just because they build shuttles and pieces of ships for Starfleet didn't make them special. Starfleet wasn't high on her list of people and organizations she liked, anyway.

At one in the morning on one particular evening, one those assholes was drunker than usual and was getting a bit too pushy with her. Freddey was to the point where she didn't even want his money anymore; she just wanted him to leave her damn diner. He pressed too close to her, breathing beer in her face and getting too grabby.

"Dammit, just go sit down and eat your damn eggs and scrapple!" she told him at last, pushing him away, "You're not doin' yourself any favors and your food's gettin' cold. And I ain't gonna get it reheated when you complain about it."

"Aww, c'mon," he slurred, "I jus' wanna have a lil fun."

"Looks like you had a bit too much fun already, pal. Now go sit down."

His friends were just as drunk and not helping at all, egging him on to kiss her or grab her ass and telling her, "Don't be such a bitch!" and "He's just tryna have a lil fun!" and "Come on, just show him your tits!"

Freddey was losing her patience. She was ready to throw them out. Her manager would let her if he knew why she was doing it. The drunk snuck up and grabbed her from behind. Thinking quickly, she shifted her center of gravity and threw him, his body hitting the tile with a loud slap and a louder crack. (Being shorter than average did have its advantages.) With Drunk One struggling to get up off the floor, Drunk Two and Drunk Three practically jumped out of their chairs, clearly pissed off now.

"Fuck you do that for?"

"He didn't do nothin'!"

"Crazy bitch! He wasn't gonna hurt you!"

"Get out!" she yelled over them, hoping the cook would hear and help her out and so beyond fed up, "Get out! Take your food or leave it, I don't give a fuck, but _get the hell out_! I swear to God, I'll call the cops if you don't fucking GET OUT!"

They were shouting worse obscenities now. That sure worked well.

"I believe she asked you to leave," a male voice rumbled behind her.

The drunks all stopped and so did Freddey; she turned. The man was fairly tall and of middling age, his brown hair just beginning to streak with grey and wrinkles forming around his brown eyes she supposed normally looked warm and friendly. At that moment, they were glaring daggers at the belligerent drunks. They made the smartest move they'd likely made all night and decided to leave. She watched them skulk out the door.

"Are you alright, miss?" the man asked.

"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine," she replied, "Nothin' I couldn't handle."

"Really? Looked to me like you were having a little trouble handling it."

Freddey glared at him a bit. The man was wearing, she noted, a Starfleet uniform, casual, just the black shirt and trousers.

"You're Winifred Mulcahy, right?" he queried.

"Who's askin'?"

"You don't remember me?"

Freddey took a longer look. Something about him _was_ familiar, though she couldn't be sure why. She did see a lot of 'Fleet personnel at the diner, all of whom wanting to be remembered, but this guy was different. Her brain kicked into overdrive, trying to find the face and pair it with a name. She remembered so many faces and names. She looked back at him. He smiled kindly, like a father would… like a father smiles at his children… children…

"Chris?"

"See, you do remember me," he replies, smiling a bit wider.

Freddey adopts a grin of her own. How could she have forgotten this man? Chris was probably one of the most important people she'd ever known, she'd ever met. He'd saved her life, the lives of thousands on Tarsus IV not so very long ago… almost ten years ago. She owed him her life.

"Chris, what brings you down here to the sticks?" she asked, "Shouldn't you be out in the black or sittin' pretty in San Francisco?"

"I'm checking in on parts for the USS Enterprise, under construction in Riverside. She'll be ready to launch in a few years."

"Yeah, I've heard some of yardies talking about her. Supposed to be a fine ship."

"Oh, she will be," Chris said wistfully, "I'm headed back to Riverside tomorrow to check in on her again, then escorting some new cadets back to the Academy."

"Sounds thrilling, Chris."

Silence fell over them briefly.

"I'm here to ask you to enlist in Starfleet," he told her flatly.

She blinked at him.

"What?"

"I want you to join Starfleet, Effie-"

"_No_," she snapped at him, "Not Effie. Not anymore."

"Winifred," he amended, his voice soft, "Starfleet could use someone like you. You're bright, resourceful, kind, but tough. That's everything the 'Fleet looks for in a cadet. I've seen your records."

"Then you know I studied religion, not science. I went to a seminary, a divinity school. I minister to the needy right now, when I'm not here earning some money to help out my grandparents. What use does Starfleet have for a preacher?"

"Our chaplaincy program is very selective. I know you can get in. You're perfect for the program. Our ships need someone on board the crew can talk to and not have to worry about it being in a report. They need someone to comfort them when they feel small and useless, when their friends die on faraway planets, when their loved ones die while they're deployed and can't go home for the funeral. It's not just about religion, but knowing how to heal the soul can be a big help."

"I know that. What do you think I did in the Exile?" she responded, her voice tight, "All did for those two months was comfort those kids."

"You were a kid yourself, Winifred."

_How dare you?_ she thought angrily, _How dare you come in here and bring up Tarsus IV?_ Freddey was ready to toss him out the door, too. She turned to face him again. His eyes were twinkling mischievously. He knew exactly what he did.

"You have the opportunity to make a good career for yourself in Starfleet, have a good life. You'll never have to scratch out a living in a backwater diner serving drunk shipworkers again."

She looked to the window. She could see the stars shining faintly above the lights and steam of the chemical plant across the street. She had been out there in space for a time, had lived on the colony of Tarsus IV from when she was six to the time of the infamous famine and massacre when she was eleven. She had been fascinated by space, certainly. Like Giordano Bruno way back in the late 1500s, she saw the universe as an infinite creation of an infinite being, a garden of life lovingly cultivated by a force no one would ever be able to comprehend. She could the Mother in its infinite beauty and intricacy.

Freddey returned her attention to Chris. The older man smiled at her fondly… fatherly. She could see the man who saved her life not so very long ago, her life and the lives of others.

"Do you really think I could make a difference up there, Chris?" she asked quietly.

"You already have," he replied, "but I think it could always use a little more help."

Freddey fell silent again. She always sought to make a difference in the lives of others. It was part of her promise back on Tarsus IV, part of her prayer to stay alive when she was sure she would die. Perhaps this was the Great Mother, calling out to her, telling her this was her chance to make a difference. She cast her eyes back to the chemical plant. She sure as hell didn't want to stay in podunk little Salem County, South Jersey her whole life. It was nice, but it wasn't what she wanted.

"When's the next shuttle leave from Philly?" she asked at long last.

"There's one tomorrow. Be at the shipyard by 0800. Shuttle leaves at 0830. When you get to the yards, just ask for the 'Fleet shuttle. I won't be on it. I'm taking one out to Riverside later in the day, but yours'll go right the Academy in San Francisco. I'll be at the Academy a couple days later. I'll call the head of the program and tell him you're on your way."

"Don't suppose you're the one who's gonna have to wake up my gramma and tell her?" she jabbed.

"You're on your own for that one. Better go get some sleep."

"Y'know, it'll be your fault when she kills me!" she called after him as he exited the little diner.

Realization washed over Freddey, and she shouted, "Hassan! Hassan! Come here!"

The middle-aged Turk came running out of the back, asking frantically, "What? What is it? What's so important?"

"Hassan, I quit!"

"What? Why? I thought you liked it here?" he questioned in his thick Bronx accent.

"I'm joining Starfleet!" she blurted excitedly.

Hassan blinked at her owlishly, eyes comically wide. Freddey wasted no time in pulling off her apron and saying, "Thanks for everything, Hassan, really. I really mean that, but I gotta do this. Gotta go. The shuttle leaves early, and I need sleep, and I gotta tell Gramma."

She gave him a quick hug before hurrying out to her car, but when she got home, she wanted nothing more than to hurry back to the dinner and pretend she never quit, pretend Chris Pike never came to the diner, pretend she never agreed to join Starfleet. Of course, Chris would be very disappointed in her if she did that, and the last thing she wanted to do was disappoint him.

Seriously though, what was she thinking? Starfleet? People with divinity degrees don't go to Starfleet Academy. Barely anyone is actually qualified for Starfleet Academy, come to think of it. They only take the proverbial cream of the crop in the fields of science and mathematics, something she was definitely not. Ancient languages were nothing to her (she's already learned ten dead languages, and she taught herself Ancient Greek and Latin before she even got to high school) but science and math were unreachable. There was a reason Starfleet did not recruit theologians and ministers.

Chris, however, had said the program at the Academy was competitive and necessary, that chaplains were still integral members of a ship's crew. At about 1:30 in the morning, she rushed into her eldest brother's room, shaking him awake.

"Wha'?" he slurred sleepily, emerging from his blankets with dark, mussed hair, "Wha'? Wha' happened? Wuzzit?"

"Whit… Whit, you're never gonna believe this…"

"Ugh, Fred, what? Believe what?"

"I… um, well… I might have… joined Starfleet and the shuttle leaves tomorrow."

Whit sobered quickly, suddenly coming awake. He replied, "What? No. No, you can't. Don't you remember what they did to us on Tarsus? You can't just join Starfleet now."

"Look, do you remember that Starfleet captain that rescued us on Tarsus IV? Well, he came to see me at the diner, wanted to recruit me to the Academy's chaplaincy program," she explained quietly, "It… it made sense, Whit, what he said. I wanna do it. I can see now that it's where I'm meant to be."

"Fred, you're not thinking clearly," Whit said, trying to placate her, to make her see the error of her ways, "Here, come with me back to the farm. Belén's getting pretty far along in her pregnancy, and I know she would like some help around the house. Her belly's enormous, you should-"

"No, Whit. I need to do this. If it all comes crashing down, then I'll come home and you can tell me 'I told you so' all you want and make fun of me for being a silly girl who wanted to be a starship ranger… but I need to try. It's important to me because that man, Chris Pike, believes in me. He offered me a challenge, and I plan on rising to it."

Whit looked torn and somewhat angry, but he sighed after a tense moment, sounding like all his air was being let out, and said, "Well, I guess I better help you pack. Don't suppose you'll be able to take too much, and you'll wanna over pack. And you'll probably need a ride to the shipyard tomorrow. What time?"

"I need to be there by eight."

"Alright, then we'll leave at seven. You better go tell Gramma. She's gonna have a fit, hearin' that," he grumbled.

"Have I ever told you that you're the best brother ever?"

"No, you usually tell me you wanna kill me or maim me."

"Good, then when Gramma kills or maims me in five seconds it'll be karma."

As expected, her grandmother took the news rather poorly, shouting about stupid, half-assed, late night decisions and the dangers of space. After a few minutes of that, she quieted enough to allow Freddey to explain herself and declared Freddey was old enough to make her own damn fool decisions now she was twenty.

"That Pike better not let me get my hands on him," she growled.

"Well, Gramma, if it doesn't work out, you go tell him exactly how you feel about him," Freddey smirked.

"Joinin' Starfleet," the old woman muttered, "Don't know what you're thinkin' 't all. Starfleet chaplain…"

"I'll be alright, Gramma. Don't worry about me."

"Oh, I know that, sweetie. Always been tougher'n you look."

The old woman pulled her into an embrace, then ordered, "Now, you gotta be outta here early. Go pack up your duffle and then you go right to sleep. It's already two in the morning. I'll wake you up at six so you can make sure you have everything and get a good breakfast."

Freddey could hardly get to sleep that night, she was so wound up and worried. She barely ate the breakfast her grandfather cooked in the morning, a hearty farm meal consisting of all her favorites – scrambled eggs, French toast, crispy bacon, hash browns, and (best of all) scrapple. Said grandpop had been a bit startled to say the least but took it in stride, saying, "I knew this day would come. Always loved meetin' new kinds of people and that ain't easy here. And the stars… girl, you love the stars so much. I remember you calling from Tarsus right after you got there, when you were a little thing. You just couldn't get over flying through space and seein' aliens and all the different starbases. Nope, can't say I'm surprised, Fred. Can't say it 't all. I wish you all the luck in the world, sweetie. All the luck in the galaxy."

"Dammit, Pete! Don't encourage her!" her grandma joked.

"Grandpop, I knew you'd understand."

"What, and I wouldn't?" her grandma retorted.

"No, Violet, you wouldn't!"

"Oh, hush up, you old man, always takin' her side…"

Freddey chuckled at her bickering grandparents, but it faded quickly. She was going to miss this. It would be worth it, she told herself as she climbed into the car with Whit. It would be hard, yes. There would be lots of physical training and science and math and other things she wasn't good at, but perhaps she would at least excel at her religion courses and alien languages. She had always wanted to learn an active xenolanguage, as the dead languages she was fluent in like Latin, Ancient Greek, Aramaic, and Akkadian were not in high demand. It would be worth it.

"Sure you won't reconsider?" Whit asked, "I can always turn around."

"Very sure. Thanks, though."

"Well… in that case, good luck, Freddey," he told her earnestly, "I mean it. I really do."

"Thanks, Whit. I really mean that, too. I'll try to keep in touch as much as possible. You'll be the first to know if I flunk out."

"You won't flunk out. I know it. You're gonna do just great. I know it, Freddey. Love you, sis."

Freddey replied, "Love you, too," and gave him a quick hug before getting out of the car and retrieving her duffle bag. The watched the car until it drove out of sight. _Well, I have to go now. I got no ride back_.

The Philadelphia Shipyard was huge (though not as big as some of the ones in the heartland), the air filled with the smell of burning metal and chemicals. She would have crinkled her nose if she weren't used to it. Looking around for a nod in the right direction, she finally approached a worker, an older woman who looked as though she had been at the shipyard since she graduated high school, and asked, "Excuse me, but could you tell me where I can find the shuttle to Starfleet Academy? It's very important that I not miss it."

"Sure thing, darlin'," the woman told her, "Here, I'll give ya a lift."

She thanked the woman profusely, climbing into the old-school golf cart that took her directly to the shuttleport. Freddey found a small herd of cadets bonding and milling about, all recognizable by their red uniforms. She felt very self-conscious in her in work jeans and flannel and dusty old boots. Still, she rolled her shoulders back and held up her head, trying to make herself feel more confident, and walked up to the shuttle. Most of the cadets gave her patronizing looks, ones that told her they thought themselves better than her because this was their career choice and had been recruited early in their lives for the Academy. Clearly they must have thought she was enlisted. Times sure hadn't changed. Only one approached her with an outstretched hand, a smile, and a cheerful, "Hi! How you doin'?"

This cadet was a friendly black girl, not much taller than Freddey but very fit. Her hair was short and natural. Freddey quickly took the proffered hand, saying, "Very well, thank you. You?"

"Wonderful! Just great! You joinin' Starfleet, too?"

"Yeah, I just got on board a bit late. Just got recruited last night."

"Last night? You weren't kiddin'! Here, you better talk to the commander so the Academy knows you're comin' and-"

"Don't worry, cadet. The Academy knows."

The girl turned and snapped off a crisp salute to none other than Cpt. Pike. Freddey did not.

"Aww, Chris, did you come all the way here to see 'lil old me?" Freddey asked.

"Yeah, to make sure you came," he replied, "Had a lot ridin' on you, kid."

"Glad I didn't disappoint."

"Never thought you would. Glad you're makin' friends."

"One friend anyway, and she wanted to make friends first, not like some of the others," she quickly turned to her new buddy, "I'm Winifred, by the way. Winifred Mulcahy. Call me 'Freddey'."

"Hey, Freddey," she replied, still slightly wary of Pike, "I'm Kahliya Cook. I'm goin' into the medical track as a nurse. I've already completed my nursing courses and got a little experience in a trauma unit, so I'm looking for some more advanced training. What about you?"

"Oh, I'm going into the chaplaincy program. I've been to seminary and divinity school, learned a lot about different religions and belief systems, became fluent in ancient, dead languages. The usual."

Kahliya perked up, and Pike said, "Well, it looks to me like you'll be fine, Winifred. CDT Cook, you keep an eye on her. She's ornery."

"Yessir. I'll try, sir."

When Pike was gone, Kahliya seemed to relax. She took Freddey by the arm and boarded the shuttle with her, saying, "You gotta tell me more about those dead languages! Girl, I have trouble with Spanish!"

"Forget my dead languages! You gotta tell me about being a trauma nurse! How do you deal with people like that? I had trouble doing it as a waitress!"

The both laughed, drawing disapproving looks from the other cadets in the shuttle, and they continued to do so through the flight. The journey was not so daunting when there was someone to share it with. By a strange coincidence, Kahliya was from the same county as Freddey and had completed her nursing studies at the community college very near Freddey's home. She was a bit older than Freddey at twenty-three, exuberant and bubbly and friendly. Freddey could already tell they were going to be good friends.

When they arrived at the Academy, they found they had been assigned as roommates. Freddey suspected Pike had something to do with it. She couldn't find it in her heart to be upset about it.

* * *

_For my part I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream._

~Vincent Van Gogh


	2. The Things We Are Capable Of

Freddey often found herself in the Academy library. It was largely quiet, and she had access to all manner of religious texts from across the Federation, all translated into Standard for easy reading. She did get bored on occasion, though, and she began seeking out such texts in the ancient, dead Terran languages she happened to be fluent in, such as Old Persian, Classical Greek, and Vedic Sanskrit to name a few. These were challenges. These texts pushed her to work harder, to think more critically, to sharpen the brain no one seemed to think she had because she placed her faith in something rooted in the unknowable.

After only a few months, however, Freddey ran out of such texts. No one bothered to translate old, alien religious texts into even older dead languages only a handful of people knew how to read. Freddey was frustrated. Did no one try to challenge themselves anymore? Did no one enjoy the thrill of doing something difficult and succeeding? Everyone was so concerned with their careers and education that they refused to anything to challenge themselves for fun.

So, in only her second semester of her first year at the Academy, she completed a translation of the complete teachings of Surak of Vulcan, known as the Kir'Shara, working from the best Standard translation she had. She actually created two full translations, into Latin and Aramaic, which were her two favorite languages and the ones in which she was most fluent. She told no one what she was doing, and if she was asked, she would have said it was just schoolwork. She uploaded her completed texts to the library, sure that they would never see the light of day again (because who would look for the name 'Winifred A. Mulcahy, Cadet Fourth Class' in the library?) and moved on with her life.

She was understandably confused, therefore, when after her Intro to Federation Philosophies course, an officer approached her, saying, "CDT Mulcahy, LCDR Spock wishes to see you in his office."

Freddey blinked at the lieutenant, some instructor's aide.

"Lieutenant Commander… Spock?"

"Yes, cadet. Please, follow me."

She did as she was ordered, trailing after the lieutenant. Spock? She didn't know of any Spock. She wasn't even sure of the name's origin… and if she didn't know him, how did he know her? It was an interesting puzzle. LCDR Spock's office was in the Heisenberg-Hawking Sciences Building, the one place Freddey did her best to avoid. The scientists and science students seemed to take a great deal of pleasure from scoffing at her for her faith in a higher power of a supernatural origin (her Great Mother) over science. There was no telling them, of course, that she also harbored a great appreciation for science. She never felt welcome in Heisenberg-Hawking.

The lieutenant led her up to the third floor, down a long corridor, and finally knocked on a door, announcing, "LCDR Spock, I have CDT Mulcahy, sir, as requested."

"Thank you, lieutenant," a calm, deep voice said, "Show the cadet in."

She was not expecting to see a Vulcan in that office. His face was blank, his eyes dark beneath arched brows that matched the swept points of his ears. She had never met a Vulcan before.

"CDT Mulcahy, you may sit if you wish," he said flatly, motioning to the chair in front of his desk.

Freddey mumbled, "Thank you, sir," and took up the chair. She noted that everything in the small room was in perfect order, including the items in his desk. There didn't even seem to be dust in the air.

"You are confused, cadet."

"Yessir. Quite confused, sir."

"Please explain your confusion."

"Well, sir, I don't know why you have summoned me to your office. We've never met. I've never had class with you. In fact, sir, I generally try to avoid this building, not being too proficient in the sciences. I do not understand the purpose of my presence, sir."

"Are you not Winifred A. Mulcahy, Cadet Fourth Class?"

"Yessir. I am, sir."

"And are you not, therefore, the author of the recent translation of the Kir'Shara into the ancient Terran languages of Latin and Aramaic?"

"Yessir. Classical Jewish Aramaic, to be precise."

LCDR Spock's face was inscrutable. Freddey was off-put by not being able to read him. His face was almost entirely emotionless… except for… amusement? Intrigue?

"Why the Kir'Shara, cadet?" he asked, "It is not a popular text for ancient Terrans, even in Standard."

"Oh, I think some of the ancients would have found it very interesting. Lots of those philosophers liked their logic," she explained, "Personally, I found it extremely engrossing. That was why I picked it to translate. Seemed like a good place to start, with something to hold my attention."

"Why conduct such a lengthy translation?"

"I had the time, sir."

That response garnered a raised eyebrow.

"You are proficient in such dead languages."

Freddey couldn't resist. She told him, "Languages only die when they are forgotten or neglected. They represent a slice of history and culture. Language can tell a scholar a great deal about a time and place and people. It's up to such scholars to preserve those languages, to remember them, so that they will never die."

"I am in agreement. In addition to science courses, I am also tasked with teaching some of the Academy's xenolinguistics courses. With this information, I am now curious as to your reasoning for joining the chaplaincy program over xenolinguistics."

"That, sir," she replied with a small smile, "is a conversation I am not sure we have the time for. My reasons are deep and personal, and they may become apparent to you should you read my file, which I presume you have already done or plan to do once I have left."

"I have seen the list of languages you are fluent in. There were eight in all."

"Latin, Classical Jewish Aramaic, Classical Greek, Old Persian, Vedic and Classical Sanskrit, and Classical and Medieval Hebrew. I have minor proficiency in several others."

"I have noted also that they are languages in which many of Earth's most important religious texts were written in. Such fluencies would have been most beneficial to your divinity studies. I have also noted you were ranked among the top of your class at Yale Divinity, in both of your degree programs, undergraduate and graduate, while also maintaining part-time employment. I am intrigued as to why Starfleet had not contacted you sooner, as your record indicates you would make an excellent officer."

They lapsed into a brief and friendly silence. Freddey noted that she had a prime opportunity… and opportunity only knocks once.

"LCDR Spock, sir… you are Vulcan, correct?" she asked, seizing the moment.

"I am," he replied, his face still revealing nothing.

"Well, sir, as a cadet in the chaplaincy program, I find that we have very little instruction in Vulcan philosophies. I mean, the texts are available through the library, but it just isn't the same as being able to have a discussion with someone familiar with such philosophies," she explained carefully, not wanting to offend Spock or seem imprudent, "If it would be amenable to you, sir, I would very much like to have such a discussion with you on Vulcan beliefs and philosophies. After all, you and I could be on the same ship one day, or I could have an assignment on Vulcan. It may also help me tweak my translations to be a bit more accurate."

"Your translations are quite accurate, Cadet."

"You read Latin and Aramaic, sir?"

"I do not, though I have a colleague who is fluent. I asked him to critique your work," Spock told her, "and you will be pleased to note that he found your work to be most satisfactory. He asked if you were a linguistics scholar and surprised to learn that you are a first year cadet."

"I imagine so," she smirked, "though you've shied away from my question, sir."

The silence fell over them again, lasting a few moments before Spock stated, "I will consider your request, CDT Mulcahy. You are free to go."

"Thank you, sir," she replied, rising from the chair and going to the door.

"Fred?"

"Chris? What are you doing here?" she asked.

Pike stood in the doorway with her, saying, "Why do you think? To see Mr. Spock. Why are you here? Spock isn't one of your instructors."

"Oh, he just took an interest in a translation I did of a Vulcan text."

Pike looked to Spock.

"The cadet made a skillful translation of the Teachings of Surak into two ancient Terran languages," Spock stated plainly, as if commenting on the weather, "I was not aware the two of you were acquainted, Captain."

"Oh, CDT Mulcahy and I go way back. I was actually her recruiter, like I was for you, Spock."

Freddey raised her eyebrows at Pike.

"Jeez, Chris, just how many people did you recruit to Starfleet? Are they making you personally fill their quota?"

That made Pike give her a fairly dirty look, one that she recognized as a 'dad' look; it meant he thought she was being rude. She found it pretty funny herself.

"Well, you two seem like you have important things to be getting on with, so I think I'll see myself out. Sirs…"

She offered them a sloppy salute and left, keeping her head down on the way out of Heisenberg-Hawking. The one good thing about the cadet uniforms was that they were all the same. Unlike the BDUs ('battle dress uniform', a holdover from wartime days of yore) that were color coordinated by division, all cadet uniforms were the same in order to promote unity and comradeship, though it didn't always work; she'd been at a disciplinary hearing a couple weeks ago for two cadets who got into a physical fight over an old feud between their cultures. Thankfully, Freddey made it out of Heisenberg-Hawking without incident, heading back to her dorm to study for her Introduction to Xenocultures test and to wait for LCDR Spock to respond to her request.

As per usual, however, she did not study upon returning to her room. Instead, she decided to look up what she could about Spock. She was mildly surprised to find that he was only five years older than her and already a lieutenant commander, though she knew Vulcans were definitely more intellectually advanced than Terrans, learning very early in their lives to put aside emotion for logic. What truly surprised her was the fact that he had apparently turned down admission to the Vulcan Science Academy to join Starfleet. That was unheard of. Even as a scholar of theology, she knew of the VSA's prestige, and it was well known in educated circles that no one turned down admission. It made her wonder why he chose to do so.

Further reading revealed he had doubled in Science and Command, with several commendations from CPT Pike among others in both divisions, though he showed a clear preference for Sciences and a passion for computer programming. He used that skill to program the Command test, the Kobayashi Maru, and also taught Advanced Phonology and Interspecies Ethics, the latter of which she would be taking next year as part of her studies. He also excelled at chess and hand-to-hand combat. Freddey had a deep suspicion Pike was going to ask Spock to join the Enterprise crew when the ship was finally ready.

Spock didn't reply to her request until after finals, sending her a message and asking her to come to his office once more. Freddey was overly pleased by the emptiness of Heisenberg-Hawking's halls, noting how the cadets had cleared out once they weren't required to be there. That was no way to get ahead in life. Anxiety slowly began to claw at her as she approached his office, praying he would agree to teach her.

"LCDR Spock? You wished to meet with me, sir?" she asked, knocking on the door.

He greeted her and asked her to sit, waiting for her to settle in before saying, "I have considered your request, Cadet."

Freddey involuntarily perched in the edge of her seat. She never realized Vulcans liked dramatics.

"The argument you put forth was quite logical for a short term decision. You did not have that request when you entered our first meeting, meaning that you realized an opportunity and seized upon it as quickly as you saw it. This shows that you possess a great deal of both intelligence and foresight. The fact that you took on a lengthy translation of an alien text simply in order to test yourself reveals that you do not fear hard work and actively seek outlets for intellectual exercises. I will admit that upon hearing you had chosen to enter the Chaplaincy program, I did not believe you would possess such qualities, due to my grounding in the Sciences and yours in faith. I am pleased to note that you have surprised me."

"Thank you, sir."

"You are welcome," he replied, "I have also looked into your performance in your academics here at the Academy. Even with your allocation of effort to another project unrelated to coursework, your grades have not suffered. Indeed, you have outperformed your peers and even upperclassmen on all levels. You show a high level of creativity and strong work ethic, as well as high intelligence. None of your peers have leveled any personal or professional complaints against your person nor have any of your instructors. Your choice to work as a chaplain proves you can be trusted with sensitive information, and your work ethic proves you do not take studies or interests lightly.

"Upon compiling and reviewing this information, I have decided to agree to a series of conversations with you on the complexities of Vulcan culture."

Freddey blinked at him for a moment, unable to process this new information.

"I… what? Really? I… I don't what to say, sir…"

"You were not expecting a positive response?"

"To be honest, sir, no. I didn't," she replied, "I know the Vulcan culture is extremely secretive, very protective of their culture and traditions. To give an outworlder information such as I have requested is unheard of. You honor me, LCDR Spock."

"Know that I have not agreed to sharing our culture lightly, and if I at any point deem you are not taking such a study seriously, I will end the agreement without hesitation, understood?"

"Yessir, I do. When may we begin our conversations?"

"Am I correct in my understanding that you will be on campus throughout the summer to take supplementary courses?"

"Yessir, in basic nursing and diplomacy."

"To what purpose?"

"They may be useful. Chaplains have, historically, been part of the medical corps. We bring spiritual comfort to the wounded and dying and can be an asset to a medical team during a time of crisis. After all, not all wounds are physical. As for diplomacy, it may come in handy if I ever find myself acting as an intermediary either on the ship or another planet."

Spock studied her for a moment.

"You are rather fascinating, CDT Mulcahy. Your arguments to me are exceedingly logical, yet your chosen profession is based in the deepest emotions. That is not typical among humans, this penchant for both logic and emotion."

"I do my best to keep people guessing. Makes life more interesting."

"I believe our partnership will be mutually beneficial. What meeting time will be most amenable to you?"

She pondered her summer schedule briefly before offering, "Is Wednesday at 2030 agreeable, sir?"

"It is. I shall schedule our first meeting for the first Wednesday of June. This will give you sufficient time to rest before your summer session."

"Thank you, sir. I look forward to it, sir."

"As do I. You are dismissed. Please attend to your health and relaxation."

Freddey stood and snapped off a crisp salute.

"I'll do my best, sir."

"Of that I am sure."

Truth be told, it felt pretty damn good to have earned such trust and respect from a Vulcan, as those were not things they gave away easily or freely. She tried not to look too smug as she left Heisenberg-Hawking. She didn't succeed.

* * *

_If we all did the things we are capable of doing, we would literally astound ourselves. _

~Thomas Alva Edison


	3. Flinch

"Fred! Did you hear _anything_ I just said?" Kahliya huffed.

Freddey blinked and looked to her roommate. Kahliya stood staring at her, one hand resting indignantly on her hip, the other pulling her foot up as she stretched.

"Sorry, Liya… you know me," Freddey replied, "Always daydreaming. What'd you say again?"

"Yeah, and you're daydreaming more than usual lately. I _said_ I'm going for a run, training for that Academy half-marathon, and I'm not sure when I'll be back. You gonna be okay?"

"Course I will. Why?"

Kahliya shrugged, saying, "Like I said, you've been out of it lately. I mean, if something's going on, and… well, y'know… I mean, if you wanna talk, I'm here for you, Fred."

A surge of affection rose up in Freddey's chest. She offered her friend a smile and told her, "Thanks, Liya. I really appreciate it. Maybe when you get back from your run."

Kahliya looked like she wanted to say something else but thought better of it. Instead, she simply muttered, "See ya later then," and headed out. Freddey watched her go. _I wish I could talk to you about it._

She somehow thought it would be easier, the tenth anniversary of the Tarsus IV Massacre, the massacre only she and eight other children ultimately survived, nine children out of four thousand people. Sure, the nightmares had dwindled to a few a year and the flashbacks were practically nonexistent, but the ten-year anniversary was sure to produce more coverage than any years previous. The media just loved reminding the public about tragedy. They were always trying to get people to sit around holding hands and singing 'Kumbayah' and waving flags. Freddey hated it. At least no one knew about the Nine's survival. The story of a group of children surviving the massacre and living in the woods for two months would have every news outlet salivating and begging for more. She had never been more grateful for Pike burying the information under a mountain of red tape the size of Olympus Mons, one that no one would (hopefully) ever even think to dig through.

Freddey let out a huff and reached for her comm, shooting off a message to her friend Jim: _You home?_

His response was quick: _Yeah… wanna come over?_

_ Yeah… now?_

_ I'll be here. _

_ Be there in 15._

Freddey didn't bother dressing up; she never had to impress Jim. She did bring a small overnight bag just in case. She had gone to stay with him earlier in the year, at the end of the spring semester, around the time of the anniversary of the famine beginning, as he was one of the other survivors. They were incredibly close, Freddey and Jim, the bond born from sharing that horrific experience, like comrades in battle. They could always rely on each other during the hard anniversaries, times when the memories became difficult to handle alone. She didn't know if he told his roommate, a doctor named Leonard McCoy, about Tarsus IV. She never told Kahliya.

Jim smiled warmly as he opened the door to his and Leonard's room, saying, "Bones won't be back 'til late. Got shifts at the hospital. See you came prepared."

"Oh, I'm always prepared, just like a good little cadet."

He gave a huff of a laugh and let her in. It was a typical guy's room. There were clothes and books and empty food containers littering the floor, and both beds were rumpled and unmade (not that Freddey's ever was). It actually reminded her of her own dorm room… minus the food wrappers. (Kahliya always kept her side neat and tidy.)

"You're, like, super gross, did you know that?" she joked.

He laughed a bit louder this time and stepped up to wrap her in a big hug she eagerly returned. Jim was just like another big brother; he made her feel safe, protected, loved.

"The usual?" he asked, heading over to the kitchen while she got situated on his bed.

"Of course. If it ain't broke, don't fix it," she replied.

So they spent the majority of their afternoon, evening, and night watching classic movies and munching on popcorn and pizza all through _Metropolis_, _The Public Enemy_, the silent _Ben-Hur_, and _Becket_. Freddey curled up against Jim's side as they started _Casablanca_ at one in the morning, head lolling against his chest, eyelids heavy.

"Ten years is a long time, Jimmy," she murmured, "I can't believe it."

"I know. I've already seen the itinerary for the Starfleet remembrance ceremony," he replied, "Lots of politicians and historians and admirals… not one survivor. They probably tried to get someone who was there and realized none of us wanna talk about it."

Freddey snorted, "Yeah, probably."

She thought back to five years ago. The news outlets had been drooling over a tell-all book by someone who claimed to be a survivor of the Tarsus IV famine. Freddey was only sixteen at that time (and just starting her initial theology degree), and though she didn't recognize the man, she never imagined he was lying. There had been 8,000 people on that colony. It was impossible to remember everyone. After a month or so of publicity, it came out that he was a fraud. While he had indeed lived on Tarsus IV, he left the colony in 2245. The man tried to backpedal and save face by saying he'd never claimed it was a memoir, then called it fiction, then said he had ghostwritten it for someone who was there. It turned out he wasn't even who he said he was. Freddey thought she remembered hearing he'd been arrested for fraud or something like that. Since the famine and massacre, no known survivor of either event has come forward to publically speak about it. She's sure Jim remembered the story; he'd been eighteen at that time.

"I heard they wanna make a documentary about it."

"About what, Jim?"

"Tarsus IV. I heard they wanna make a documentary about what happened, but they can't get any survivors to approve footage or agree to be interviewed."

"Good. We don't need a documentary. Everyone remembers what happened just fine."

They fell silent for a long while, just watching Humphrey Bogart and Ingrid Bergman and Claude Rains and Peter Lorre. Freddey settled closer against Jim's warmth, murmuring, "I'm glad we're here, Jimmy."

"Me, too, Effie. Me, too," he replied looking down at her, "You look ready to pass out, sis."

Her lips quirked up in a sleepy smile. Jim told her, "Aw, just go to sleep. I'll be here."

Jim tightened his arm around her shoulder, and she was soon fast asleep, grateful for a dearth of nightmares. Len was there when they woke up in the morning. He said nothing, nor did he do so much as raise an eyebrow at Freddey and Jim curled up in bed. (She's sure he's seen much worse in the morning before. At least she had all her clothes on.) Len just calmly sipped his coffee, reading over a datapad and informing them, "You got a message from CPT Pike. Both of ya."

Leave it to Pike to know they were together. Freddey scrubbed at her eyes and sat up fully, stretching and twisting to relieve some of the knots in her muscles. Behind her, Jim mumbled something about his bodily functions, and she felt the mattress shift as he got up and went to the bathroom. Freddey got to her feet and shuffled over to Len. He gave her a gentle smile, one he rarely let anyone see, and handed over her comm that she'd left on the table. Pike sent both her and Jim an identical message: _Both of you. In my office at 1300. No excuses. Very important matter to discuss._

Freddey blinked at the message. Why would Pike need to speak with both of them at once? The semester had only just started, so it couldn't be classes. Even if it was, he wasn't her advisor. She stifled a yawn, scratching her head. Len looked curious but asked no questions.

She and Jim arrived to Pike's office promptly at 1300, where he told them to sit. Freddey liked Pike's office very much. Pike was a historian at heart, and his office showed it. There were tall bookshelves on every available wall, reaching from floor to ceiling, packed to the gills with antique bound books. Starship models sat on every open surface. Piles of papers and datapads littered the desk and floor in varying sizes and states of disarray. The smell of old books filled the air. Freddey reveled in it.

"Do the two of you know why you're here?" Pike asked.

His face betrayed nothing. Both Freddey and Jim shook their heads. Pike sighed, leaned back in his chair, scrubbed at his face. Freddey did her best to remain expressionless.

"First of all, the admiralty told me to ask you if you would speak at the Academy's Tarsus IV remembrance ceremony. I told them you'd probably say no, but they told me to ask… so pretend I asked and you said no., and be glad they're not ordering you to do it."

Freddey shifted in her seat slightly and heard Jim do the same beside her.

"Now… there's some news I have that's worse than that," Pike explained, his voice low, "They recovered some remains on Tarsus IV and identified them as being from a man called Geoffrey Stolarz. They found him out in the woods, and forensics said it looked like he was beaten to death. The time frame for the remains lines up with the famine, though they believe he was killed after the massacre. I need you two to be honest with me. Do you know anything about this?"

Freddey didn't reply. She couldn't. Her heart beat wildly in her chest. She felt lightheaded and sick and terrified and prayed Pike couldn't see it in her eyes. Jim remained as tight lipped as she was. Pike sighed.

"Look, I wanna help you," he told them, "but if I'm gonna do that, I need honesty from you. I can't help if I don't know what happened or what you know."

Her heart was racing. This couldn't be. She had worked so hard to make this go away, yet here it was again, rearing its ugly head, viciously alerting her to its presence, reminding her it would never go away fully. Her chest constricted. It was hard to breathe. Jim fidgeted in his chair, apparently not wanting to speak but having trouble remaining silent. Pike looked frustrated but remained patient with them, knowing this was hard for them to talk about. Freddey struggled to maintain a neutral façade.

"I don't want to get you in trouble," Pike soothed, "You know I don't. I just… people are looking for answers, and I want to make sure they don't dig deep enough to find you. You're good kids. You don't deserve the shitstorm that would occur should anyone discover you survived the massacre. If you know what happened, _please_ tell me so I can figure out how to tell them."

Freddey saw Jim twitch in her peripheral vision. Pike's eyes were full of affection and tenderness and understanding. Her mind screamed at her, _Just tell him! Look! He won't hurt you! He loves you, and he's not like them. He will help you. He won't abandon you to the wolves. Tell him tell him tell him-_

"It was me," she blurted at last, emotions roiling in her soul.

"Fred, no-"

"I did it," she continued, her voice thick, "I killed Geoffrey Stolarz."

"How?" Pike asked.

"I… I beat him to death with the shovel I used to bury the ones that died."

"Why? Tell me."

Pike's voice was softer, fatherly, his expression open and calm. She felt herself shaking with fear and self-loathing. She clammed up, suddenly unable to speak. Jim shook beside her, for her. He knew. He was the only one she told the night it had happened. He held her while she cried and begged the Mother for forgiveness. She watched through blurring vision as Pike dragged his chair around in front of his desk. He sat very close to them. Freddey jumped when she felt slight pressure on one of her hands and looked down to find Pike gripping it tight in one of his own; he was doing the same to Jim.

"Winifred, James, please," he whispered, pleading, "Tell me what happened so I can help you."

"He threatened the kids," Jim told him, "Fred was just tryin' to make sure we were safe."

"I was… he found me while I was on watch. I always took the shovel with me in case I had to fight off an animal or something and defend myself," she explained quietly, "but I never thought… never thought I'd have to-…"

Pike's grip on her hand tightens, offering silent reassurance.

"He, uh, he came outta nowhere. I was just sittin' there, minding my own business, and he was just there. Dude got this look in his eyes, like he was all excited and whatnot, like he'd gotten Christmas and his birthday all at once. He lunged at me, but I jumped outta the way and grabbed the shovel. Then he started talkin' all crazy, sayin' he was gonna bring me in, me and whoever I was protecting. Said the governor'd reward him real good, give him more rations for him and his family. I mean, I dunno how he knew there were more, but I wasn't about to let him get any of us.

"Stolarz turned around, which I reckon is probably the stupidest thing he'd ever done. He wasn't lookin', so I… I whacked him good with the shovel, knocked him down," she continued, her voice now flat, her face calm, "Didn't knock him out, though. He was tryin' to get back up. I knew I couldn't risk him goin' back to town and tellin' everyone where we were, so I just kept hittin' him 'til I was sure he was dead. I didn't bury him. I figured if he was gonna sell out a bunch of kids to get killed over a little food, he didn't really deserve it."

"I saw her when she came back after it happened, after Shoshannah went out and relieved her on watch," Jim followed, "She just went right into the cave, and I knew somethin' was wrong because she always greeted everyone when she came back, so her not sayin' anything was pretty weird. I followed her in, and she just broke down crying and told me what happened. She was really upset. I told her I woulda done the same thing."

Pike remained silent, just looking at them, still clasping their hands. His face still bore fatherly affection, now tinged with pity and sorrow. It was over a year ago now that CPT Pike came to both of them and offered them the stars, offered them a chance to step out of their parents' shadows, the tragedies of their pasts. They both worked to make him proud, and in return he gave them the sort of fatherly love and guidance they'd never had when Jim's father was dead the day he was born and Freddey's didn't give a damn about her. Freddey's parents had only cared as far as was necessary, and when their lives and positions were in danger, they just handed her over to die.

Jim sniffed loudly beside her, and she knew he was crying, too. Pike gave them each a soft smile before releasing their hands and pulling them in for an embrace. Freddey squeezed back hard, digging her fingers into each man's back, feeling safe in their arms, loving one as a brother and the other as a father. Pike pulled away after a long moment and settled a hand on each of their faces, cupping their chins.

"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me the truth," he said softly, "Don't worry. I'll make sure everything is taken care of."

"Just like always?" they asked in unison.

Pike huffed out a laugh and agreed, "Just like always," gazing on them like a proud father. Freddey couldn't understand why he looked so proud when she'd just told him she once killed a man. He seemed to sense her confusion and focused his attention on her, though he didn't let go of Jim.

"I know what you did was hard," he told her gently, "Believe me, I know. No one in a position like that ever really wants to kill, and they don't enjoy it. It's always a last resort, and it's always to protect others. I've had to do it plenty of times, and it doesn't get any easier, not even when other lives are stake. If it's ever easy… well, there's a big problem. I'm proud of you for telling me what you did. Not many people would be able to admit it to themselves, let alone another person."

He turned to Jim next, saying, "And you. I'm proud of you for standing by her. I can't imagine helping her keep that secret for so long. You're a good kid. You're both good kids, and you're very lucky to have each other. Don't forget that. You need each other."

Freddey smiled up at him fondly. Yes, Jim needed that reassurance, needed to be told his suffering was not in vain, that he wasn't the perpetual fuckup everyone always said he was. Pike was good at that. The older man quickly wiped some tears from their cheeks, and his voice went a bit gruff as he told them, "Now, get outta my office. I got work to do."

Freddey and Jim both mumbled, "Yessir," gave him sloppy salutes, and went back to Jim's room. In the safety of the room, Freddey reached out and grabbed Jim's hand, murmuring, "Thank you, Jim."

"For what?"

"For being there for me, for helping me."

"That's what friends are for, Fred. I… when you told me what happened that day, you asked me to help you carry your burden. Like, you didn't use the words, but that's what you telling me meant, and I did that willingly. I did it because I care about you, because you're my friend. I wanted to help you… so I did."

"Yeah, but you didn't have to… so thanks."

Jim swooped down to kiss her on the cheek and smiled, "What are friends for?"

She sighed happily and asked, "Wanna do another movie marathon? Maybe we can invite our roommates to join the fun."

"Yeah… yeah, I think Kahliya and Bones would like that. Better be sure they don't start talkin' shop, or they may never shut up!"

Freddey laughed. Leave it to Jim to lighten the mood. They would need that skill of his later that night when they spilled everything to Len and Kahliya.

* * *

_We each need to make peace with our own memories. _

_We have all done things that make us flinch._

~Surya Das


	4. Irretrievably Lost

When Starfleet received the distress call from Vulcan and sent its cadets into action, many of those cadets were still only in their third year. They still had a full year of training ahead of them, a year that would have provided valuable knowledge and field experience. As she had expected, Freddey Mulcahy was assigned to the USS Enterprise, Pike's ship, and she was sure Jim Kirk would be there, too. Sure, he was in the middle of a disciplinary hearing, but Jim was so smart, so good at what he did, that she just assumed he would be there. Pike had the newest ship in the 'Fleet and his pick of cadets. Freddey knew Jim would be there, even if they rarely saw each other.

The chaplain's quarters and office were located adjacent to the main medical bay, which made sense as the chaplain was most often needed in the medbay when people were dead or dying. Chaplains were actually considered members of the medical team, healing souls instead of bodies or minds but every bit as integral to personnel recovery. She found her official uniform waiting for her in the closet, the shirts and dresses in science/medical blue, and opted to change into a shirt and trousers. They had been called to aid on a potential disaster, so something that provided more coverage and protection was best in case of emergency.

And an emergency there was, apparently several, all in a row. Freddey didn't hear much in the medbay. McCoy told her that he'd smuggled Jim on board even though he wasn't supposed to be there, but then the ship was rocked by an explosion that sent Freddey to the floor and set McCoy cursing, especially when he was made Chief Medical Officer. Rumors swirled about Pike being held hostage by Romulans and Vulcan being under attack by an enormous Romulan ship that was drilling into its core. Vulcans were being shepherded into the medbay in transporter-sized groups only minutes apart, all with varying degrees of injury. She heard that Vulcan was destroyed completely, wiped off the galactic map entirely. Jim and another officer were brought into the medbay, but Freddey couldn't get over to see him. There was too much happening.

There was an announcement at some point in which Jim stated he was the acting captain, but she couldn't be sure exactly when that was. She was constantly giving last rites of various religions and holding hands, trying to soothe wounded spirits while they waited for a doctor to work on their wounded bodies. She does vividly remember McCoy carrying Pike into the medbay. She hurried over but was rebuffed by McCoy, who urged her to see where else she could help and suggesting Dr. M'Benga may have something for her to do.

Dr. M'Benga instructed one of the nurses to give her a Vulcan infant to hold, a baby girl who was beamed up with her father, the latter of whom was suffering from severe psychic shock from the loss of his wife and bondmate. M'Benga, having studied on Vulcan, asked her to hold the child and try to offer some psychic comfort. If the infant was feeling any psychic discomfort, however, she wasn't showing it as she slept peacefully in Freddey's arms.

Freddey's heart leapt into her throat as the ship groaned heavily around them, the metal creaking and screeching. She shot McCoy a worried look, who bore a concerned expression, his eyes darting around. He quickly pushed it down, turning instead to soothing his patients, making sure they didn't over stress themselves over something completely beyond their control. Freddey prayed for Jim and Spock and the whole Enterprise.

The ship lurched violently. Freddey threw out an arm to keep from falling and hurting the infant. McCoy swore again, grabbing onto the edge of a biobed for stability. The ship fell quiet, the hull no longer creaking and groaning. Freddey's heart was pounding. Jim's voice came over the intercom, announcing that Nero had been defeated, CPT Pike rescued, and Earth saved from destruction. He paused, seeming to anticipate the cheer that went up not only in sickbay but shipwide, then continued, explaining that in order to escape the black hole formed by the destruction of the red matter in Nero's ship, they'd needed to eject the warp cores. Thus, though they were in the Sol system, the journey back to Earth would take two weeks at the very least. Still, when Freddey remembered the noises the Enterprise's hull was making, it felt quite good to be going home at all.

"LT Mulcahy?"

Freddey looked up. Dr. M'Benga stood before her, his medical tunic spattered with blood both red and green.

"How is she?" he asked softly.

"Okay, I guess. She's been sleeping mostly… woke up and cried once…"

She looked down at the infant and found large brown eyes looking back at her. Freddey couldn't keep the smile off her face.

"Is her father alright, doc?" she asked.

"He's as well as can be expected," M'Benga told her, "I'm keeping a close eye on him, but I expect him to recover. It'll take some time, certainly, but he'll recover. Some of these older couples have me worried, though. They've been together so long that one of them just dying like that may take the other. You see it in Terrans sometimes, with elderly couples. They'll die within days or even hours of each other.

"Anyway, I think our little girl will be fine. Lemme get a nurse to relieve you so you can get back to doing what you do best: healing what we doctors can't. One moment…"

M'Benga wandered off, returning shortly with an older woman who had a kind face and looked as though she'd been in Starfleet for ages. She smiled warmly at Freddey and the infant, her dark face crinkling by her eyes.

"I'm Roslyn Baker," she offered quietly, "Here, you just hand me the little one, and I'll make sure she's well taken care of. Here we go…"

The Vulcan infant didn't so much as bat an eyelash at being handed to another stranger. Baker immediately swayed off, cooing and humming at the babe as Freddey had done. M'Benga ushered her out as Jim was coming in. Freddey opened her mouth to speak to him, but he cut her off with a crushing hug, assuring her he was fine and telling to her to go to her office.

"Go on, Fred. They need you in your office now," he told her, releasing her, his expression softening as he looked at her, "I'm glad you're alright, Fred. I'm glad you're here. We'll catch up later, I promise."

He gave her another quick squeeze and slumped off after McCoy to be looked after. Freddey sighed heavily, exhaustion hitting her without warning, and she realized with a start that she hadn't slept since the mission began over forty-eight hours ago. She wandered back to her office, shoulders slumped, trying to offer small smiles to those she passed in the corridors. Freddey was looking forward to a long sleep and a hot shower.

Outside her office door stood a young ensign with long limbs and curly brown hair. He paced nervously, wringing his hands, walking away from the door a few paces before returning and staring at the wall comm before repeating his movements. Freddey rolled her shoulders back and put a smile on her face, doing her best not to show her exhaustion, and approached the young man slowly. He jumped when she cleared her throat.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting," she said sweetly, "I've been down in sickbay. Please, won't you come in?"

The ensign gave no immediate reply, though he nodded after a moment. Freddey stepped up and opened her door, waving the ensign in first.

"There you are. Just have a seat, sweetie," she offered, "Would you like something to drink? Water, coffee, tea? You're free to use my replicator and have whatever you'd like."

He shook his head this time, gazing down at his wringing hands in his lap.

"I'm Winifred. My friends call me Freddey. What's your name?"

"Is… my name is Pavel," he muttered.

"Pavel… well, what can I do to help you, Pavel?"

"I… I don't know."

"I'd like to try anyway. Why don't you tell me what's troubling you?"

The wringing of his hands intensified, but he didn't speak. Freddey waited. It wasn't good to push. He was struggling with whatever it was, and pushing him to speak was likely to make him clam up. She made herself a cup of tea while she waited. It was just cool enough to drink when he muttered almost inaudibly, "I killed her."

"Who?" she asked calmly.

"It vas Mr. Spock's mother," Pavel replied, his voice (and accent) thick, "I vas trying to save her and Mr. Spock and many others, but-but I lost her. I-I don't know vhat happened. I-… she just-… she started falling and I couldn't lock on again. She… she died because of me."

"Why do you think that it's your fault, Pavel?"

His lip trembled, and he answered, "Because I failed! I failed to save her! I let her fall and now she's dead and is all my fault!"

Tears shined in his eyes, his face going red from trying not to cry. Freddey laid a gentle hand on his arm, asking, "And why should that be _your_ fault?"

"I told you already, I failed. I could not properly perform my duties."

"How many others did you beam up?"

"Vhat?" he blinked.

"How many others did you beam up and save?"

"There… there vas Mr. Spock and his father… and seven more… and there vere… five other groups, I think."

"That doesn't sound to me like you failed in your duty," she said gently, "It sounds to me like you performed admirably. You saved so many people. You mustn't feel so guilty for a death you didn't cause. Her death was caused by Nero. All the deaths we've suffered today were caused by Nero, and he is the only one who can be blamed for them. I know Jim and Spock, and so I know that they are very, _very_ proud of you."

"But-but if only I had maybe tried harder-"

"Don't do that to yourself. Maybe you could have saved her, sure, but maybe it would have cost everyone else their lives. There's a saying on Vulcan that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. None of the Vulcans you saved blame you for Amanda's death, not even Spock and Sarek. They understand that there were variables beyond your control. They know you did your best."

"But… but the look on his face-!" Pavel said earnestly, apparently determined to blame himself, "Mr. Spock… he vas so sad. I've never seen anyone look so sad in their eyes. He just… he vas staring at the place his mother should have been."

"Pavel, you must stop blaming yourself. Remember what I said before? This was Nero's fault. Amanda's death weighs on his soul, not yours, and-"

"But it does."

His young face was miserable, his eyes wet, tears slipping down his cheeks. Freddey reached out and took his hands in hers, whispering, "Forgive me, Pavel, I should have known better. Of course it weighs on your soul. Believe me, I know better than most that it does, and I was wrong to think you were any different. I just want you to understand that her blood isn't on your hands, no matter what it feels like. You shouldn't feel ashamed or unworthy. Like I said, I know that Jim and Spock are proud of you."

His lip trembled some more.

"I'm proud of you, too," she continued, "for coming to talk to me about it instead of bottling it all up."

"I just… I needed someone to talk to… and… and I thought you were the only one to help me… who would be able to help me."

"Well, I do my best, Pavel."

"I am just feeling so bad, so guilty because… nevermind…"

"No, tell me. I'd like to know. It may let me help you some more."

He sniffed quietly, staring down at his hands once more, and said simply, "I know how Mr. Spock feels from losing his mother."

"So do I," she told him, "I was eleven."

"I vas eight. We vere living on Mare Imbrium lunar colony, and she fell ill. It vas a brain tumor. Inoperable. I remember they diagnosed her in November, and she vas dead by August. My father moved us back to Russia after that, back to Taganrog. That is where I vas born and where my mother vas born so… so that is where she is buried."

"Yeah, my parents are buried near where they were born, too. Do you ever go and visit your mother's grave?"

"_Da_, all the time," he replied with small, tearful smile, "I always took her flowers on the Theotokos feast days. Theotokos is Mary, Mother of Christ in the Orthodox Church, but I'm sure you know that. I like to visit her especially at the Nativity of the Theotokos, the Presentation, the Annunciation, and especially the Dormition of the Theotokos. I like to leave her white _tyul'pany_… erm… is 'tulip' in Standard. _Tyul'pany_ are native to Rostov Oblast, where Taganrog is located. They were her favorite flower."

Freddey felt a stab of jealousy. Pavel clearly loved his mother very much, even a decade after her passing, and she wished she could say the same. Her mother never cared. She pushed it down and reached out to take one of Pavel's hands as his lip trembled again. He choked out, "I just… I just feel horrible because I failed to save Spock's mother when I tried so hard, and all I've ever wished I could do vas save my own. I-… I still miss her so much, Freddey."

His young face crumpled, tears rolling down his cheeks, and Freddey couldn't stop herself from pulling him into an embrace. He buried his face in her shoulder, crying softly, his breath hitching, while Freddey rubbed his back soothingly. It all made sense now, why he was so upset over the death of Spock's mother, why he seemed intent on blaming himself. When he finally pulled back, Freddey gently wiped the tears off his face.

"It might make you feel better," she offered, "if you were to talk to Spock about this. I know the idea of it may seem a bit frightening, but I think it'll be good for both of you. I can ask him, if you'd like, to see if he'd agree to it."

She watched him turn the idea over in his head a few times. After a moment, Pavel spoke up, "_Da_, I think I would like that."

"I'll ask him the next time I see him. In the meantime, it may make you feel better, coming from your religious background, if you prayed to the Theotokos. She is a mother, the greatest mother some say, so asking her for comfort or guidance or forgiveness may help you with the guilt you feel."

"I… erm, I tried to do that before," he mumbled, his face reddening, "I could not find the right words."

"Don't look for them. Don't pressure yourself to find words for prayer. The best prayers come right from the soul, where words don't exist. Just settle yourself somewhere nice and calm and quiet, and let your prayer flow from there. It can be a bit hard at first, but you get used to it, Pavel."

"Thank you very much, Freddey," he replied, smiling softly, "I vill do my best to do what you said. You vill let me know when you speak with Mr. Spock?"

"Absolutely, as soon as I can. Now, why don't you go and get some rest. I'm sure you've been working this whole time, and I think some sleep'll do you good. Remember, if you feel like this again, come and see me, and we'll talk again, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am, happy to."

"Good, I'll be in touch, Pavel. And none of that 'ma'am' stuff anymore, got it?"

He gave her another small smile and a quick hug before leaving. Watching him go, Freddey sighed, no longer as exhausted as before, her body cycling back into work mode. She groaned as she pushed herself to her feet, deciding to go around to the different departments of the Enterprise to have their heads remind their people where she was and to come to her if they needed anything. She headed to Engineering first, figuring she would start there and work her way back up to her quarters.

The Engineering deck was buzzing with activity, and Freddey stood at the threshold, utterly confused, not having a clue as to where to find the head of Engineering. She wasn't even sure what his or her exact title would be or if it was even the same one they left Earth with. She was saved from her confusion by a PO2 coming over and asking, "May I help you, ma'am?"

"Well, I'm here to see the chief engineer, if they're not too busy, Petty Officer-?"

The young man wrinkled his brow slightly before it cleared and he said, "I'm PO Sedna. Please, ma'am, follow me."

He led her down near the warp cores (or at least where they would have been had they not been shot into a black hole) where several people were working on a wall panel and some complicated looking electronics boards. One, a man with dark hair, was armpit-deep in the wall panel, grunting and swearing under his breath. PO2 Sedna cleared his throat, saying, "Sir, she asked to speak with the head of Engineering. With Chief Engineer Olsen gone, you're the highest-ranking officer and have the most authority. I believe acting CPT Kirk named you Chief Engineer?"

"Aye, that he did," the man replied, pulling himself out of the panel, "thank ye, petty officer. And what can I do for you?"

He faced her fully, and Freddey felt her heart give a strange little flutter she didn't recognize. He was fairly tall, his uniform smudged with dirt and grease. He wiped his hands uselessly on his shirt. Freddey stepped forward, holding out her hand, saying, "Hello there. PO Sedna tells me you're the head of Engineering?"

"For the time being anyway," he replied, giving her hand a firm shake, "Name's Montgomery Scott, though most just call me Scotty."

_Scotty the Scotsman… somebody wasn't too creative…_

"Good to meet you, Scotty," she told him cheerfully, "I'm Winifred Mulcahy, the ship's chaplain. I just wanted to come down and meet you and ask you to remind your department of where my office is. I'm right by the main medical bay. So, if anyone needs to speak with me, my door is open 24/7, for the most part. I know the crew suffered a lot of losses, so I'm just asking all the departmental heads to remind their crews where I am."

"I certainly will, LT Mulcahy."

"Oh please, it's Winifred, or Freddey," she said.

"Of course, Freddey. I'll send out a notice to the entire department quick as."

He offered her a small smile, and Freddey felt that odd flutter again. Perhaps it was medical. She made a note to ask Kahliya about it later.

"Wonderful. Thank you, Scotty. I've gotta go. I'm on my way up to the Communications department."

"I could escort you if you'd like," he offered.

_Do it Do it Do it Do it Do it Do it-_

"That's awfully nice of you, but I'm sure you have way more important things to do than show me out. See ya later, Scotty," she said, ignoring how her brain screamed at her to take his offer and giving him a small wave as she left.

Freddey wound her way out of Engineering, wondering why that happened. She'd never felt anything like that before, and the little flutter came back when she simply thought about that Scotty character. How odd. The exhaustion returned in full force before she was even halfway to Communications, so she abandoned her plan and returned to her quarters for sleep. Surely it was her tiredness that was causing such a strange reaction, and a good long sleep would rid her of such things. She attributed the fact that she saw him in her mind's eye just before she fell asleep to her bone-deep exhaustion. It would go away when she was fully rested.

* * *

_The deep pain that is felt at the death of every friendly soul arises from the feeling that there is in every individual something which is inexpressible, peculiar to him alone, and is, therefore, absolutely and irretrievably lost. _

~Arthur Schopenhauer


	5. By Their Stars

The Enterprise's slow limp back to Earth may have been just the thing the crew needed after all that happened on their mission, and Freddey found herself quite popular in those few weeks. She barely had time to eat or sleep. She spent most of her days tending to wounded souls and weeping crewmembers and hearing awful stories of what happened during the battle. One of these meetings (she refused to call them appointments) was with LT Sulu.

Freddey vaguely recalled him from the Academy, perhaps from a newsletter article or just from being on campus. He stood sheepishly in her office for a time, like most do, just wringing his hands and avoiding her face. People largely avoided organized religion in this day and age, often declaring it was for the weak-minded and gullible. No one seemed to want anyone else to know they came to her spiritual guidance when there was a very scientifically-trained psychologist on board. Freddey generally tried to avoid thinking about what the others thought of her.

"Sulu, it's nice to see you," she chirped happily, "What can I do for you today?"

She always liked to be pleasant with her friends (for they were friends not patients) to try and put them at ease. They'd already made a difficult decision in coming to see her, in choosing to spill their souls to a stranger.

"Can I get you anything?" she asked, "Would you like a drink or anything to eat?"

He mumbled, "No thank you," and made no move to either sit or leave. Freddey couldn't discern his expression, at once conflicted and sad and angry… and pitying? She offered him a kind smile, saying, "Won't you sit down, Sulu? Might make you feel better, or at least begin to."

Sulu hesitated, but he followed her request and took up the chair opposite her. Freddey did not press him. She never pressed. Pressing people made them clam up, and she hated when people clammed up.

"I… I don't know where to start," he muttered, embarrassed.

"Start wherever you would like."

His leg jiggled, fingers tapping on his knee. He still hadn't looked at her directly.

"I almost died," he said abruptly, "on Vulcan. I almost died. I was falling. I tried to slow myself, but… but the ground kept getting closer and closer. Then Kirk jumped after me and his 'chute broke and… he almost died because of me, because I was falling… because I made him jump after me to save me."

"Oh, believe me, you didn't make Jim Kirk do anything he didn't want to do," she explained, "If he died jumping after you to save you, it wouldn't have been anyone's fault but his… and Nero's I suppose, for knocking you off the platform."

The small jibe did not cheer Sulu up any. Freddey sighed.

"There's something else."

"What?"

"There's something else bothering you besides you and Jim almost dying. I know it. Please, if you'll just tell me what it is-"

"You wouldn't understand," he muttered in an interruption.

"I understand a little more than people think," she replied, "Try me."

Sulu's eyes darted all over the room, anywhere but Freddey's face. He wet his lips nervously. Freddey waited. Secrets were important to wait for. His leg stilled, but he returned to wringing his hands. She wanted to rest her hand on his, if only to make him stop fidgeting for a moment.

"I just…" he said at long last, "I don't know why… I just don't know why I'm still alive."

"That sounds like it goes deeper than the Battle of Vulcan."

It was not a supposition.

"When I was a kid… umm, well… I was eleven, and-…"

His voice broke off, his eyes wet. Freddey truly felt for him.

"Please, Hikaru, tell me about it. I'm not here to report on you or make you feel bad. I'm only here to help you. Like I said before, I understand more than people think."

Sulu's words came out in a rush Freddey just barely understood, "When I eleven I survived Ganjitsu," and it took her another moment to comprehend it.

The massacre on the Ganjitsu colony was almost as well known as Tarsus IV. Ganjitsu had been a fairly young colony at the time of the attack in 2248, one full of beings from across the Federation. It was hailed as one of the most prosperous and successful colonies in only the first three years of its existence, much like Tarsus IV. In 2248, it all came crashing down when the Klingon Empire attacked. The Klingons sought to take the colony for themselves due to the rich natural resources discovered by the colonists. When they were met with resistance, they went on their customary rampage, slaughtering colonists without regard to age, gender, or species. Of the ten thousand colonists, over two thousand were killed and thousands more wounded. The physical size of the colony prevented more casualties, but reports of Klingon atrocities spread through the Federation like wildfire in dry brush. People were shocked and upset, though the media coverage was nowhere near the level of Tarsus IV.

Freddey's heart broke for Sulu. She reached out and rested her hand on his. He took hold of her hand, gripping tightly, as if she would disappear… or perhaps he felt that _he_ might have floated away and so clung to her like an anchor. Freddey was acquainted with the feeling.

"It can be hard," she told him gently, "to know you survived a great tragedy when lots of others didn't. Believe me, I know it. To survive something like that twice, well…"

"On Ganjitsu, we lived in the main square," he explained quietly, "My parents worked in communication, and the headquarters were right in town, so that's where we lived, me and my parents and my sister. We moved to Ganjitsu not long after Tarsus IV was uncovered. The move was already planned before then, so we went anyway, even though my dad was really nervous about it. My mom was still excited.

"Two years, everything was pretty great. I made good friends and all that. Then… then the Klingons attacked. Most of the people that died lived in that main part of town, like we did. We could… we could hear the screaming, the crying, the shouting… Our parents took us into the basement of our house. I guess the Klingons thought the house was empty, so they ransacked the place and left. I still don't know how long we stayed in the basement, but when we came back up, it was awful, like a nightmare. There were bodies in the streets and people screaming. People lost parents, kids, siblings… and my family was intact. We weren't even hurt.

"Now… I had to just stand by, mostly uninjured, while all of Vulcan was destroyed. The Vulcans that were rescued and Mr. Spock… it was like that all over again… only worse."

Sulu clutched Freddey's hand tighter, his brown eyes wet with tears, his voice thick.

"I think we all feel that way in regards to Vulcan," Freddey replied, "and I think it's alright that we feel like that. These aren't things that happen every day. We're entitled to feel these sorts of emotions when such events occur."

Freddey thought very carefully before adding, "And… and I know that from experience because… because I was on Tarsus IV. I survived Tarsus IV just the way you survived Ganjitsu, and you're only the third person I've ever told that."

Sulu's eyebrows shot up, and his grip actually loosened on her hand.

"How did you deal with that?" he asked, "I woulda went nuts…"

"I did for a little bit… but I learned to put it behind me, put it in the past. Now, the past'll always crop up every now and again to remind it happened, but you just tell yourself it's in the past and leave it there."

"But… but why me? Why am I alive when so many other people have died?"

"I can't answer that. I can only tell you what helped me when I felt like that."

"Tell me. Please."

"See… see, I believe that everyone serves a purpose in their life, no matter how seemingly insignificant. Everyone matters to someone. Their life is always of value to someone, in some capacity, even if it's not immediately apparent. Y'know, I heard you did a lot of good up there on the bridge, saved a lot of lives. I think you're right where you need to be, where you should be. Now, of course, that's just what I believe. Whether or not it helps is another matter."

"No… no, it really does help," Sulu told her, his eyes still wet, his hand still clutching hers, "I just… How do I convince myself of that?"

"Oh, just look around."

His brow furrowed this time.

"Just look all around. You're a pilot. You're in charge of getting us from place to place safely. I think you're right where you need to be to serve your purpose," Freddey said calmly, "and if you don't believe me, well, just ask anyone, like Pike or Jim or Spock or Chekov. I mean, they know you better than I do, and you may believe them more than me. It _is_ my job to make people feel better, after all, not theirs."

He laughed a bit at that, wiping at his eyes with his free hand, and responding, "Thanks, LT Mulcahy."

"Please, call me Freddey, Hikaru."

"Thank you, Freddey."

"You're very welcome. Now, why don't you go and get some rest. You look like you deserve it."

Sulu smiled and gave her hand a final squeeze before leaving her office. Several other conversations occupied her day, dealing with everything from homesickness to a dead fiancée that had been on another ship. She was kept very busy until her growling stomach forced her to take a break and head to the mess for dinner. Freddey was about halfway through her hamburger and fries (the classics can't be beat) when someone stopped at her table. She would have said something polite if her mouth weren't full of burger.

"May I join ye, lass?" the newcomer asked.

Freddey still had a mouth full of food, though she did look up. It was the Scottish engineer from a week ago, holding a tray from the replicator. Freddey nodded, covering her mouth as she chewed her food. He thanked her politely and sat down, biting into his club sandwich with gusto. She could see dirt and grease crusted under his nails, just like the friend she had in South Jersey whose father was a mechanic. She finally swallowed her mouthful of food, she said, "You musta been just as busy as me lately. You're tearin' up that sandwich pretty good."

"Aye, lass, I have. Kirk actually found me nappin' in a Jeffries tube once or twice. He got me some quarters the first time," he explained around bites of turkey club, "but I do like to be near my engines like that."

"I know what you mean. Len, I mean Dr. McCoy, and I are the same way, preferring to have our quarters near our offices. Though I think it's more important for him than me… you too. You keep the ship running after all. Jim was talking to me yesterday, and he said you saved our skins in a big way."

His cheeks flushed bright red, and he stammered out, "Well-well, I dunno about that. I was o-only-… I mean, he gave the orders-"

"But it was your idea, I bet, to shoot out the warp core like that," she offered, watching the color deepen.

The engineer (Scotty, she recalled) chose not to reply, instead shoving more sandwich into his mouth and chewing furiously. Freddey smirked, biting into her burger again. That strange flutter was back in her chest. She made a note to tell Kahliya about it later.

The two of them ate together for a while in a companionable, if slightly awkward, silence. As soon as she'd finished her burger, her comm beeped at her, alerting her to someone wishing to speak with her at her office.

"Well," she sighed, "duty calls. I'll see ya around, Scotty."

"Aye… aye, see ye later, lass."

She was quite sure she imagined the look of disappointment in the Scotsman's face as she left. Why should he be disappointed to see her leave? They barely knew each other, never really had any interaction. Freddey had only just met him a week ago for maybe five minutes.

_No_, she concluded, leaving the turbolift, _I'm just being silly. All the excitement and lack of sleep are getting to me, making me imagine things. I'll be right as rain with some more sleep._

She decided to keep the flutter in her chest to herself for now.

* * *

_Failure and success seem to have been allotted to men by their stars. _

_But they retain the power of wriggling, of fighting with their star or against it, __and in the whole universe the only really interesting movement is this wriggle._

~E.M. Forester


	6. That Which Has Been

The Hall of Reflection on the Starfleet Academy campus was quiet as Freddey entered. She had already spent several long days counseling people over the loss of friends and loved ones in what was quickly dubbed the Battle of Vulcan. Nine Federation ships had been utterly destroyed that day, along with the entire planet of Vulcan. Six billion lives had been snuffed out in the proverbial blink of an eye. Such a thing was difficult for anyone to deal with, even her, and her defenses were beginning to break down. Empathy was an important quality for a chaplain to possess, but she couldn't exactly be constantly breaking down and crying with her visitors. The head chaplain had promised that if she worked in the morning, she would give the overworked Enterprise chaplain a few days off, so she decided to do her best to muddle through until the afternoon. She had no appointments, so maybe she could just get through some paperwork.

She was understandably surprised to see someone standing by her door at the early hour, and even more surprised to find that he was Vulcan. He was an old man, likely older than Freddey could guess, as Vulcans had far longer lifespans than Terrans. His hair was silvered, his face lined, his eyes weary. His eyes held her attention the longest. They weren't like the others she'd seen on Vulcans, not with all those emotions swirling so violently.

"Sorry I kept you waiting," she stated, offering a polite bow of her head.

"There is no need for apology, lieutenant. I have arrived quite early and was aware I would need to await your arrival."

"You waited for me in particular?"

"Indeed."

Freddey was not expecting that, either. She opened her office door and asked the old Vulcan in to sit, inquiring if he would like a beverage before settling in her own chair. There was a beat before she earnestly told him, "_Tushah nash-veh k'odu_. I grieve with thee."

The old Vulcan inclined his head, unfazed by the young Terran's offered condolences in Vulcan.

"Normally, I would ask what brought you here, but I think I already know that answer."

"You know a part of my reasoning behind my visit, lieutenant. I suspect the other will come as a surprise to you," he explained, "You are close to Jim Kirk, are you not?"

"I am. I've known Jim for about… seven years now. How do you know Jim Kirk well enough to call him Jim?"

She observed as the old Vulcan formulated a response, his eyes getting sad and wistful and misty as they would if he were smiling sadly. For a Vulcan, of course, he probably was.

"It could be said that I have known Jim for a very long time, yet also that I have only just met him. We are both very old friends and new acquaintances."

Freddey felt her brow furrow. Vulcans did seem to enjoy being as cryptic and vague as possible. She requested, "Explain."

"Did Jim not tell you what occurred on Delta Vega?"

A moment passed before realization hit.

"Of course. You're him. You're the Other Spock… well, the original Spock, I guess. He didn't tell me very much, to be honest. Said it had to be kept a secret from, like, everyone."

"How much _did_ he tell you?"

"Not much at all. Just that he met Spock from the future and that the Romulans had been upset because they blamed you for their planet being destroyed far in our future. That's it."

"Then he told you very little," Other Spock explained calmly, "The situation was complicated, so to ensure transmission of all relevant information, I initiated a mind meld with him while on Delta Vega."

Freddey's eyebrows shot up.

"A mind meld? That's… uh… that's very-…"

"Intimate?" he supplied.

"Quite, from what I've been told. Spock, our Spock, offered to tell me about Vulcan culture and beliefs while I was at the Academy, so I know that mind melds are considered very special. Please correct me if I'm wrong, but I will presume you and your Jim participated in mind melds?"

"On many occasions. I am not ashamed to tell you that the Jim Kirk of my time was the best and closest friend I ever had."

There was a pause.

"He's gone, isn't he? Your Jim. And not just because you're here in our time but because he… he died."

"Along with everyone I once served on the Enterprise with," he replied quietly, the first hint of sadness finally creeping into his voice.

"I'm so sorry."

"It is the way of the universe," he told her, his voice even but with that sad tinge, "I once underwent the Kolinahr, the Vulcan ritual which purges all emotion. I thought that without emotions, I could be content, but I soon realized that was far from the truth. I am half human, and so such emotions are a part of my experience, of the life that I have been given. In my life, I have experienced more grief and pain than I ever hoped I would, and I can honestly say I would never give it up."

"Often that for which we grieve is that which has been our greatest joy. Without the good times, there are no bad. We're on the same page as far as that goes, it seems."

Freddey studied the old man for a long moment. He was sad, yes, weighed down by being alone and bearing witness to Vulcan's doom, but there was a kind of strength there, also. His closest companions had been dead for decades, yet here he was, stranded in an alternate universe because he'd wanted to save Romulus from destruction. There was something else, though, something Freddey couldn't quite understand.

"You're here for another reason, Spock," she said calmly; it was not a question.

"Very perceptive, lieutenant."

"Please, call me Winifred. Didn't you in the other timeline?"

Other Spock looked away, avoiding her gaze. An odd feeling settled in her gut.

"You were never on the Enterprise," he used the same sort of tone doctors use to tell patients they're going to die, "Jim told me the two of you were friends on Tarsus IV when you were young, as I presume you were in this timeline. In mine, Jim was chosen to live. He said you were killed in your home just before the massacre, which he witnessed. There were no survivors."

That was certainly an odd feeling, to know she was dead in parallel universe.

"Well… well, I'm alive here, and you should call me Winifred."

He inclined his head in acquiescence while Freddey took another moment to digest the startling information of there being a universe where she was doing anything but this, where she didn't know Jim and Pike and Spock and Kahliya. It was difficult to comprehend.

"We got off subject, Spock. You were going to tell me what else it was that brought you here."

"It is to do with the mind meld I spoke of earlier," Other Spock explained, "I told you that the Jim of my time and myself participated in multiple mind melds over the course of our time together. I did not realize the Jim of this timeline was not yet friendly with my counterpart and so had never experienced a mind meld before. I fear that I may have taken advantage of his mind."

"How so?"

"He did not fully offer his consent to the meld but merely allowed it to happen. He could not have offered full consent because he did not fully understand what a meld consisted of. I forced him to feel emotions he would else never have suffered and stole glimpses at memories that were his alone. After the emergency passed, I realized I had wronged this Jim Kirk by behaving in such a manner."

"Jim didn't tell me he felt wronged in any way, but if it would make you feel better, I could ask him about it for you. Or would you like me to arrange a meeting with him so you could ask him yourself?"

"I do not think that would be wise. I should distance myself from this Enterprise-"

"Look, I know it must be painful, to see a Jim that's so familiar and yet a stranger to you, but I don't think you should distance yourself from us. Maybe… maybe you should hang around. Y'know, shape us into the people we should-"

"That is not my place," he interrupted.

Freddey blinked at the Vulcan. He continued, "You are not the people I knew. Your experiences are not the same as those of your counterparts, and so there is no way you will become the same people. You must shape your own destinies and choose your own paths. My time… my time has passed. I will go to the New Vulcan colony. I have already located a suitable planet with an accommodating native population. There I will go, and there I will stay. That is my destiny, Winifred."

"But won't you be lonely there, Spock?" she asked quietly.

Other Spock's face grew impossibly sadder, and he answered in a soft, low voice, "I have been lonely since Jim died 94 years ago, and since the passing of all those I have called friends. It makes no difference now if I am lonely here in this timeline or lonely in the other. The fact still stands that I have no one in either place."

Some of her cracks were deepening. _Damn, I'm tired. I need to sleep after this before I end up blubbering with my visitors_.

"One thing Jim did tell me was that you were so sad, the saddest person he'd ever met. I didn't believe him," she whispered, "He said he couldn't understand how someone so sad could still be functioning."

Other Spock said nothing, his gaze still misty.

"What happened to him? To your Jim?" she asked, stopped, backtracked, "No, nevermind. That's none of my business. I shouldn't be prying into your grief."

"Perhaps that is why I came, even without my realizing it. Is there not a Terran saying about sharing grief and halving it?"

"Yes, and it seems to me you've been carrying this grief for a long time."

"I have had no one to share it with."

Without fully understanding why, Freddey reached out to lay her hand on Other Spock's arm, feeling a storm of emotions brewing under his skin, and told him, "You can share it with me."

Other Spock lifted an eyebrow, giving Freddey a quick once over. It felt like an appraisal.

"It will be easier if I am able to show you, Winifred."

She was pleased to know she passed muster but eyed his outstretched hand warily. She'd never been in a meld before, and she wasn't sure how much she was ready to feel in the state she was in. She had made a promise to this Other Spock, however, promised him something important. Freddey took a deep breath, saying, "You honor me with your trust, Spock."

"As you honor me with yours," he replied, "Please, it is easiest when you relax your mind and close your eyes…"

His hand came up to rest on her face, the fingers connecting to various points. Freddey's eyelids slipped shut.

Pain flared violently in Freddey's chest, so harsh she thought it might kill her, along with a thick, smothering darkness. There was something else there in the darkness, though, something that made it bearable. A light. A gentle tug. A reminder. A familiar warmth. _Jim_, a voice supplied, _Your name is Jim_. It was faint, the familiar warmth, but it was there and because it was there, she felt hope. _Gone but not. Always and never touching and touched. _The light, the gentle tug, meant Jim was still alive, somehow, somewhere, in some form. That was good. Even if she never saw him again, he was still alive and that was good enough for her. The presence had been there for so long it no longer felt unnatural, not that it ever really had been in the first place. It's just another part of her mind, her soul, her being. As long as it's there, she'll be okay. The pain dulled just enough to be bearable.

The warm, comforting presence was ripped away, leaving a raw, open, bleeding wound, a yawning chasm where it had been. An all-consuming emptiness drowned her. It was endless, boundless, infinite, inescapable. That was it. The end. She would never again feel that presence, that warmth, and the knowledge that she would never escape that emptiness was terrifying. She wanted nothing more than to pull away, to find a way to flee the pain and the yawning void… but she promised this Spock she would do this, would help him share his grief. She would stay if only to keep her promise.

She blinked in the light of her office. Its dim light felt blinding after the darkness.

"Jim was right," she sniffed, wiping at her eyes, "That was awful. I don't know if I would be able to live with that."

"I have managed to go on this way very simply."

"How?"

His smile was sad and enigmatic.

"I continue to live," he replied, "because that is what Jim would wish for me to do."

Freddey felt a smile creep onto her face.

"You know, Spock, you're absolutely right. Forgive me. I should have known right away that you are the sort of man who keeps his promises."

The faintest smile sat on Other Spock's face, and he seemed to sit straighter in the chair now, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders… the weight of a world. They sat together in a brief but pleasant silence.

"Tell me, Spock, if you can. Your Jim… was he happy?"

"He was the greatest man I ever knew and the best captain in the Federation."

"But was he _happy_?"

"I believe he was, yes. He had a good crew, a good ship, good friends. I only knew him to be unhappy in any way as he grew older and the Federation attempted to push him toward calmer pursuits. He greatly enjoyed being in the thick of things, as you say. He was happiest on the bridge of a starship."

"But he _was_ happy?"

"Yes. Being captain of a starship was his destiny."

"What about your destiny, Spock?"

"Mine? Mine was to be at his side."

Her smile widened slightly. She replied, "Sounds like a pretty good destiny."

"It was."

There was a knock at her door, and Spock rose from his chair gracefully (if slowly) and excused himself for another appointment. He was almost to the door when Freddey told him firmly, "You know, I expect you to keep in touch."

"I will endeavor to do so, Winifred."

A first-year cadet came in, bearing a datapad for Freddey to look over from the head chaplain. Thankfully, the rest of her morning was slow, with no other meetings. It gave her time to finish her paperwork and to think on what she learned from the Other Spock. There was quite a bit he told her, after all.

* * *

_When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth _

_you are weeping for that which has been your delight. _

~Kahlil Gibran


	7. Wear Thin

Freddey saw some pretty interesting things during their mission to the primitive planet of Nibiru. Jim had asked her to remain on the bridge in order to observe the reactions of the native beings on the planet below. She'd managed to pinpoint a sort of temple at the foot of a mountain that was ominously belching smoke from its summit. Several crewmembers called out scientific readings: atmospheric, biological, geological, especially seismological.

"Captain," Spock called from his station, "it appears the volcano is ready to erupt. According to the data we possess at present, I estimate its eruption will result in the total or near extinction of the native beings."

"Why don't they get outta the way?" Jim asked, stricken.

"They may not be aware of what's happening," Freddey supplied, "When Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD, the Romans had no idea why. They had no concept of what a volcano was because they'd never seen Vesuvius erupt. Even the ancient Hawaiians, who saw eruptions far more often, attributed them to the actions of supernatural beings, like the goddess Pele. It was the same with various Native American tribes, with the Maori of New Zealand, with old Japanese folk tales-"

"Your point, Fred?"

"My point, _Jim_, is that they likely worship a deity or deities associated with the mountain. Following that line of thought, I believe they think they've done something to anger that deity or deities, and they're trying to placate them somehow."

"Mulcahy's logic is sound," Spock agreed.

That wasn't good enough for Jim. He started pacing along the bridge, muttering and wringing his hands. Freddey didn't like it, either, but rules were rules, and the one unbreakable rule was the Prime Directive. No Starfleet ship, crew, or officer was to interfere with the natural progression of a primitive species, not for any reason. She had to accept it, along with every member of Starfleet, no matter how much she didn't want to. Freddey stood by and crossed her arms, leaning against a bulkhead by Len, who had also been summoned to the bridge for an observation of Nibiru's inhabitants. They both watched their friend pace a wear pattern into the floor.

"I've got it!" Jim declared at last.

"What? Got what?" Len asked.

"I know how we can save the Nibirans from the volcano," he replied.

Len groaned and put his face in his hands, and Spock managed to look both confused and completely done, like he somehow knew exactly what Jim was thinking but didn't know why he was thinking it.

Thus began a long ordeal that started when the Enterprise was on the bottom of an ocean. Jim and Len hurried to distract the Nibirans, while Spock, Uhura, and Sulu went to drop a cold fusion device (whatever that was) into the heart of the volcano to keep it inert. Freddey remained on the bridge, along with Scotty and Chekov, just to keep herself informed. She may or may not have spent much of the time wringing her hands and biting at her lip. Scotty paced the bridge as Jim had done, though he refused to sit in the chair when he did pause. She only saw him even perch on the edge of the chair once.

"LCDR Scott, the captain and Dr. McCoy have returned to the ship," LT Patel stated, "and LTs Uhura and Sulu are on their way. They appear to have abandoned the shuttle, sir. There is no word from LCDR Spock."

"Where are the cap'n and McCoy?" Scotty asked, heading for the turbolift.

Patel told him, and he had one foot in the lift before he called to Chekov to take the conn. The three men returned to the bridge not long after and were shortly followed by Uhura and Sulu, who quickly took up their posts. Freddey watched as Uhura worked frantically to reestablish a line of communication with Spock, who was still in the volcano. As soon as communication was restored, Jim and Spock set to arguing. Spock was adamant they not be seen, even at the cost of his own life, while Jim steadfastly refused to leave Spock behind. Freddey recalled the old axiom about irresistible forces and immovable objects. They were both formidable, but only one could win out. It was only a matter of time before Jim's stubbornness would lose out to the volcano. Freddey's heart was pounding.

Jim ordered the Enterprise out of the Nibiran sea and over the volcano, refusing to leave Spock behind in spite of the fact that the inhabitants of Nibiru would be sure to see them. No one voiced any protest, however. When Jim and Len hustled to the transporter room to make sure Spock was alright, Freddey looked to Uhura. The lieutenant's mouth was set in a thin line, her hands shaking in her lap either from fear or rage (or perhaps a bit of both). It was confirmed as rage when she spat out a report to Jim that Spock's cold fusion device had been successfully detonated, then slammed down her earpiece on the console. Freddey couldn't exactly tell who Uhura was mad at, not when both Jim and Spock seemed to be likely candidates for her vitriol.

"Hey, Uhura," Freddey said cheerfully, approaching her slowly, "Y'know, we've never really had the chance to talk, and well… I think a little break from the bridge might do us some good right now. How does lunch sound?"

Uhura took a moment to consider her offer before agreeing to meet her in a little while. Freddey left the bridge and went back to her office to wait.

"Welcome to my little slice of paradise, Uhura," she stated, smiling, "Come on in. Now, I offered lunch, and my replicator is ready to go. Go ahead and have whatever you like."

Uhura thanked her, ordering a simple East African dish, likely comfort food, and a cup of coffee. Freddey ordered her own lunch, and she and Uhura carried on a light conversation over their meal, talked about their time at the Academy and where they were from. Freddey made sure to carefully skirt around her time on Tarsus IV.

"So, you seemed a bit… tense on the bridge earlier," Freddey mentioned casually.

"Unbelievably," Uhura replied, saying nothing more.

"That's understandable. It was a rough mission, so-"

"Who does he think he is?" she blurted angrily, "I mean, really? Who does something like that? It's like he doesn't even care about anyone else!"

"Who exactly are you talk-"

"Spock! How could he? He could've died in that volcano, and it was like he didn't give a damn! Do you know how that makes me feel? Pretty damn worthless! You just don't tell someone how much you care about them and then let yourself die!"

She was on her feet now, pacing the length of Freddey's office, and continued, "He was gonna let himself die! You heard him! He told Kirk to leave him behind!"

"You and I both know that Jim was never going to leave him behind."

"He couldn't know that. How could Spock know that?" Uhura asked.

"Anyone who's been on this ship for more than a day or two knows Jim won't abandon anyone, the rules be damned. I think Spock was operating under the false assumption that Jim would follow the rules, but I think a part of him always knew Jim wouldn't."

Uhura's pacing slowed to a lazy stroll, her arms swinging like a little kid's.

"Look, I get it. You love him, and you almost lost him," Freddey told her gently, "That's rough on anyone, but if you're gonna keep goin' with Spock, you're gonna have to be prepared for more incidents like this. He's not gonna sit by while other people do the heavy lifting."

"I know, I know," she muttered, dropping into the chair once more, "I just… I wish he would show he cared as much as I know he does."

"Vulcans don't do that easily."

"I know," Uhura repeated.

"Well, there's an old saying about tigers and their stripes. No matter how much you care for each other, he can't change who or what he is, half-human though he may be. I'm sure he shows his care in his own way."

"But he didn't care!" Uhura retorted, "He didn't care that he was dying! You heard him. He told Kirk to leave him there and let him die!"

"He was probably just trying to be logical when his emotions threatened to overwhelm him. I'm sure he was upset about dying. Most sentient beings aren't exactly thrilled about the knowledge of their own mortality and eventual demise. Knowing your own demise is imminent isn't exactly a great feeling, but sometimes logic can override emotion in order to try and find a way to survive, to help you think your way out of a fatal situation. Now, I don't claim to be a psychologist or an expert in Vulcan psychology, but Spock's been through a lot in the last year or so. Plus, being raised on Vulcan, he's not used to showing such emotions openly."

"I know that, too."

Uhura didn't look up, picking at the hem of her skirt idly. Freddey waited for more.

"I just-… it's so different, dating him," she said at last, "He's so different from anyone else I've ever had a relationship with. Everyone else was very open about their emotions and what they wanted from our relationship, but Spock… Spock is just so _different_."

"That's to be expected."

"Well, you know what I mean. He's so closed off that I can't always figure out what he's feeling because he doesn't want to admit to feeling anything. It's confusing, honestly. I can't figure out if he's happy or not because, well, no one can."

"Well… what about you, Uhura? Are you happy?" Freddey asked.

Uhura blinked at Freddey, who continued, "You seem very concerned with whether or not Spock is happy, but are _you_ happy? Right now, it doesn't seem that way. What I'm hearing is that you're often hurt and confused by his behavior."

Uhura flushed a deep pink.

"Look, I'm not a relationship expert. I can't tell you what will or won't work here, only what I _think_ will work," Freddey explained, "I would say you should talk to him about what's bothering you, the things that irk you, maybe what's confusing you. If he won't sit down and talk to you, send him to me and I'll set him right, although that says a lot if he isn't willing to talk this through. Worse comes to worse, you can come see me together so I can mediate the conversation."

"Sounds good," Uhura said with a soft smile, "Say… Thanks for getting me to open up. That really helped."

"You looked you needed to vent, and I'm pretty good at listening to venting."

"I appreciate it. I really do, Freddey," Uhura replied earnestly, checking the chronometer, "Oh, I should get back up to the bridge. I'll see you later."

"Yup, see ya!"

Uhura headed out into the corridor, and Freddey heaved a sigh. She was glad that relationship stuff sounded alright to Uhura because she'd had trouble believing it herself. This was the girl, after all, who'd never been in a romantic relationship with anyone for any period of time. This was the twenty-four year old virgin. That was not to say she was naïve. No, she knew about what went where and how everything worked. She just wasn't interested in any of that. It seemed like a lot of work and lot of mess for such a simple feeling. She'd figured out long ago that sex and relationships weren't for her. There were, of course, people interested in her, but she never returned the affections, instead buried herself in her studies and religions and languages.

Freddey sighed again, deciding to head back up to the bridge once more. Jim was all but lounging in his chair. Uhura was at her own station, monitoring the subspace channels and pointedly not looking at Spock. Spock, however, looked comfortable, unaware of Uhura's apparent emotional issues with him. Len was hovering near the captain's chair, as he was wont to do whenever he was on the bridge. One of his hands rested on the back of the chair. Sulu and Chekov monitored their own feeds, keeping an eye on the ship's speed and direction and making adjustments as needed. Freddey cast her gaze over to the Engineering station, a station currently (though not usually) occupied by Scotty.

She couldn't help but watch as his fingers flew over the buttons and switches and a keypad, swiftly maneuvering to input some kind of information. It probably had to do with making sure the ship was flying smoothly after hiding on the bottom of an ocean. He'd not been happy when Jim told him to do that. She watched him work for a bit, then decided to go find her nurse of a best friend about that fluttering in her heart.

She was not thrilled to hear Kahliya bust out laughing and proclaim, "Girl, you're so _funny_! You ain't gonna die! You've got a crush!"

That was a ridiculous notion. Freddey had never had a crush on anyone in her life, and she certainly didn't now. Surely, there had to be another reason, some kind of rational explanation for occasionally seeing the chief engineer in her dreams.

* * *

_For lack of an occasional expression of love, a relationship strong at the seams can wear thin in the middle._ ~Robert Brault


	8. Approach the Gods

Freddey pulled herself up off the floor of her office, groaning, hearing books thud to the carpet as they slid off her back. The loss of the ship's artificial gravity had been startling, to say the least, especially when she had nothing to lash herself to for stability. She had never been more grateful that all the furniture was nailed down so her desk hadn't crushed her. Everything seemed stable for now, and she wondered who had saved the ship and crew from spiraling to Earth… though she had a clue. Her comm chirped for her attention as she was helping clean up in the corridor, damaged in the earlier firefight.

"_Fred, it's Len_," said a tired voice.

"Len, I'm here. What is it?"

"_It's-… you better get down here_," he told her thickly, "_It's Jim_."

Freddey's stomach bottomed out. _What did he do? What kind of state is he in?_ She uselessly dusted her dirty hands on her trousers and hurried to Medical, praying what she found wouldn't be so bad. Her heart pounded in her chest as she raced down the corridor, and it wasn't just from her running. The doors whooshed open for her, and she quickly found her way to Len and the private room.

"Len, I came as quick as I could. How is he?" she asked breathlessly, "I was helping with clean up and rescue on one of the lower decks when I got your call. What happened to him?"

He beckoned her closer, and she finally noticed Scotty and Spock in the room with them. She was startled to see Spock covered in green blood. Scotty was hunched on a stool in front of him, clutching a damp towel in his hands, presumably in order to clean off Spock's blood. Freddey left them to it, stepping closer to Len and Jim.

The room felt very cold, her chest very tight. Somehow, Jim looked almost peaceful there in the cryotube, frost collecting on his hair and brows and lashes. _He'd look peaceful if he didn't look so… so…_

"He's- umm… is he dead?" she choked out, "I-… How? Why?"

"He went in to fix the warp core," Len explained gently, voice still thick, "Scotty told me. Said they figured out the warp injectors were outta alignment, so we couldn't fly until they were fixed. Well, Scotty pointed out the, uh, deadly levels of radiation present, but you know Jim… knocked Scotty flat on his ass and went in anyway. Saved everyone on this ship and probably a whole lot more in San Francisco, but-… well… Scotty was with him, at least… and Spock."

Freddey felt tears welling in her eyes, her vision blurring as she tried not to cry out loud. _Jimmy, you're not allowed to be dead. _The two of them had survived so much already. It wasn't fair for him to die now. Len rested a large, comforting hand on her shoulder. She covered her mouth. Not crying out loud was getting increasingly harder, tears spilling down her cheeks, and Len drew her in for a hug.

"There's-… so that's it?" she whimpered, "That-That's it? He's gone?"

"I know… I know, darlin'," Len murmured, "but… but there may- and it's a great, big, universe-sized may- be a way to bring him back."

"What? How?"

He pulled back a bit to look her in the eye and quietly told her, "Khan's blood. I made a serum from it earlier in the mission and tested it on a dead tribble. That was about three days ago. Today, while Jim was lyin' there in a body bag, that tribble purred into life. Spock brought Khan back alive, so I took his blood, most of it, and there's a serum synthesizing for Jim right now. I'm hopin' it'll revive him like it did the tribble, though a human's a bit more complicated than a tribble, so… we'll see. Just don't get your hopes up."

"Aw, Len, you can't tell me that," she said, trying to tease, "I'm the chaplain. Hope is what I'm all about."

"I know, darlin'… I just hope you have enough for all of us."

They were interrupted by Spock, his shirt marred by splotches of green and red blood, his face sporting blossoming bruises of deep teal.

"Doctor, I must attend to ship's business and misdirect Starfleet admiralty as to Kirk's condition. I trust you to alert me to any changes."

"I will."

Freddey looked past him as he left, briefly locking eyes with Scotty, who quickly looked away. The man was clearly miserable, his face wet and his eyes red. Len had told her Scotty was with Jim at the end. She couldn't begin to imagine what he was going through, having to watch Jim die, knowing Jim sacrificed himself so he wouldn't have to. She walked over to him, saying, "Scotty?"

She sat in the chair opposite him, the one previously occupied by Spock. Scotty refused to look up at her. She heard Len off on the other side of the room, presumably still working on the serum, clinking glasses and muttering. She watched Scotty, saw fresh tears slide down his cheeks, dropping into his lap. She wasn't exactly sure why she reached out and grasped his chin, gently lifted his head, hoped he would finally look at her. He did not draw his gaze from his knees. _Why should he wish to?_ She was just a silly little girl compared to him, with no knowledge of the science he so adored.

"Scotty, please…" she queried softly, "won't you look at me?"

She must have sounded pitiful indeed, for he quickly complied, raising his dark blue eyes to meet hers, all wet and rimmed in angry red and puffy; she's sure she looked no better. A tear rolled slowly down her cheek as if to prove it. She wasn't aware Scotty had moved at all until she felt a calloused thumb gently wiping it away. _Strange._ Freddey wouldn't have thought his hands could be gentle, though she knew he performed delicate work. She liked them, his hands. They felt real. They were close, so close. She'd never noticed that brown spot in his iris before. Len swore softly somewhere behind her, and she came crashing back to reality. Her best friend was dead. She sniffed loudly, more tears threatening to spill.

Freddey looped her arms around the engineer's neck and whispered, "Thank you for being with him at the end, for making sure he wasn't alone. I'm so glad he didn't have to do that alone, Scotty. Thank you-"

She choked off the sob that rose in her throat, burying her face in the grey clad shoulder and trying so hard not to weep uncontrollably. His arms wrapped around her waist, one of those big, gentle hands splayed across her back. She might have enjoyed the contact if she weren't grieving. He surely felt her shoulders hitch with each buried sob. Scotty shifted slightly, pressing his cheek to hers. She could smell smoke and ozone and grease on his clothes and skin. It somehow calmed her, though she couldn't be sure how or why. _Poor Scotty... Does he blame himself for what happened to Jim?_ She would remember to talk to him about it later. Not now. For now, she tightened her arms around him, and he tightened his in turn.

"They're askin' for you in Engineering," she heard Len whisper.

Freddey managed to gently disengage herself from Scotty's embrace, drawing her sleeve across her face, and said thickly, "Go, Scotty. They need you. Get the Enterprise running like she should be. I'm sure we need more power for docking and… well, for other stuff. Go on, they need you there… and so does everyone else."

There were fresh tears on his face she couldn't help but wipe away. She didn't like seeing him like this, upset and crying and so very sad. He avoided her eyes again, allowing her to wipe away the errant tears before he hurried off to Engineering. Her heart fluttered violently, almost painfully. She wasn't exactly sure why.

Len grunted and swore behind her, reminding her that he was there, reminding her why she was there. She rose from the stool and returned to Len's side. The doctor said nothing while he worked save for the occasional swear. She just watched him work until he completed the serum, filling several small hyposprays and putting all but one on ice. He opened Jim's cryotube, administered the serum, closed it again, said, "And now we wait… and you should pray."

"For what?" she breathed absently.

"For everything, especially Jim," Len muttered, "Just-… I dunno if this is even gonna work. I mean, it worked on the tribble, but humans are a sight more complicated than tribbles. Even if it _does_ work, I dunno how long it'll take. He could be fine by next week or just wake up years from now. I just- I dunno, Fred. I can't-"

His voice was choked off by a sob, hand covering his mouth, tears filling his eyes. Freddey wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder. He hugged back tightly, pressing his face to the top of her head, sobbing quietly. _It's like he thinks if he's too loud he'll wake Jim._ This was good. Len needed his turn to let his guard down, to grieve, to cry. Doctors weren't often afforded that privilege. As much as she wanted to break some more herself, she held it back for Len, so he would have someone to lean on for a while longer.

When at last he pulled back, he whispered, "I just-… Is what I did right? Is this ethical, Fred? I mean, have I gone too far? Is this-? Am I playin' God?"

"Honestly, I can't answer that, Len," she told him, "There's a solid argument for that point of view, I s'pose, for playin' God… but I think that any omnipotent and omniscient being there may be would express Their displeasure by making sure Jim doesn't wake up and come back to us. I think that when he comes back, it'll be because he was supposed to. He didn't survive Tarsus IV to die like this, to die now… however heroic it may have been. There has to be more for him."

"I need him," Len said miserably, "I need him if I'm gonna stay out here. He's the only reason I'm here and… I need him."

"Me, too."

"Pray for him, Fred. Pray he comes back to us."

"I have been the whole time."

"Then keep it up."

She did, though she wasn't sure it was praying so much as it was begging the Mother for the life of James Tiberius Kirk. She couldn't even bargain. She couldn't think of anything worth so much as his life. Len sat at Jim's bedside, tears slipping down his cheeks, hands fidgeting in his lap. He looked so very sad, the hurt going deep.

"There's something else," she said quietly, "Something's bothering you besides Jim."

It was telling, not asking. For a long moment, Freddey wasn't sure Leonard had heard her, for he just sat there, not speaking or moving. She wasn't going to press him, knowing the grieving process was different for everyone, but he spoke just when she was about to give up.

"I ever tell you about my daddy?" Len asked in a low voice.

"No. You haven't."

"My daddy was a good man, a good doctor… the best father a kid could ask for," he explained quietly, "My mother died when I was a 'lil thing, only three, and my daddy took it on himself to care for me all on his lonesome… 'til my grandma stepped in to help because he was hopeless. She'd get me from school and let me sleepover when Daddy worked late at the hospital, but he did pretty much everything he could by himself. I tell ya, I thought he would die of happiness the day I got into med school at Ole Miss, 'cause that's where he went for his degrees, too. He was beamin' with so much pride he framed my acceptance letter. I could only imagine how proud he was when I graduated. I could hear him cheerin' my name when I went up for my diploma. I got my residency in the trauma unit at Atlanta General, workin' with him, and… and I met Jocelyn… and everything just felt right.

"But then it all came crashin' down. He got… Daddy contracted pyrrhoneuritis… and there wasn't a cure for it at that time. He just got worse and worse until he was just-… he was confined to a bed and had constant pain, fierce, immense pain. He got so bad that painkillers weren't workin' anymore. All I could do was set with him and try to comfort him, bu-… but…"

His voice choked off again, more tears rolling down his cheeks. Pain was clear in his eyes, old pain, scarred by the years but still hurting. His lip trembled as he continued, "I didn't want to. I really did-didn't. He was just- He was in so much pain, Fred, was so miserable. I just couldn't tell him no. And when… when I turned off the machines, whe-when he was dying… he looked so peaceful and content. He thanked me. I don't think I ever cried so hard in all my life as the day my daddy died. About a month later, I read that they'd discovered a cure for it. I was pretty bad that day, too."

"You did what he asked of you," she replied, "You said he was at peace, and you couldn't have known a cure would be found so soon. I believe you did the right thing, Len. It was what he wanted."

She reached out and took his hand, twining their fingers.

"I couldn't save him, and I don't know now if I can save Jim. It's just so hard knowin' that even if I've done everythin', it might not be enough."

"You're here with him. That's enough for now."

He gave her hand a squeeze, and they settled in for a long night of watching over their friend.

* * *

_In nothing do men more nearly approach the gods than in giving health to men._ ~Cicero


	9. Forgiving

_**Warnings: mentions of mass casualty situations, suicide**_

* * *

The badly damaged Enterprise was receiving some much needed repairs, sending everyone from the crew down to headquarters until repairs could be completed. Freddey was stationed at Starfleet chaplains' headquarters, the Hall of Reflection, an immense, cathedral-like building sprawling over part of Starfleet campus and towering into the sky. Stained glass windows shone brightly in the San Francisco sun, sending myriad colored patterns across the floors, each window a story from a different religion.

Some of the windows had been blown out when Khan's ship had crashed, the broken glass glittering like jewels on the floor. There had been too much to do for the chaplains' corps to perform any cleanup yet. The chaplains were now not only tending to the spiritual and emotional needs of Starfleet personnel but also San Francisco rescue personnel, rescuers who had come from all over the nation and world, and civilians who had never known tragedy on a such a scale on Earth before. They barely had time to sleep and eat, so cleaning really just hadn't been an option. Freddey liked to think of it as a reminder, something to make sure they wouldn't forget what happened. Forgetting was unlikely, though, what with thousands of people dead.

The people of San Francisco had lost many that day, had lost mothers and fathers and grandparents and children and siblings and aunts and uncles. Low estimates placed the body count at three thousand. High estimates were up around ten thousand or more. Starfleet had lost plenty of her own people, too, starting with the bombing of the Kelvin Memorial Archive in London, with Khan's attack on Daystrom (and Pike's death), and many others. Freddey almost hadn't believed it when Jim told her Pike was dead. Christopher Pike could not be dead. He had survived too much to be killed by something so petty.

Freddey had been on the bridge when ADM Marcus admitted to plotting the whole thing, to recruiting 'Harrison', to creating a Starfleet paramilitary force, to killing Pike. Her blood boiled, rage filling her veins until she felt nothing else. She remained on the bridge when Jim and Khan left to spacejump to the Vengeance, and so she was also there when Khan crushed Marcus's skull with his bare hands, heard Carol scream, saw Jim get beaten bloody, flinched perhaps more than she should have when Scotty was knocked out cold. She hadn't seen Jim again until he was dead.

A few weeks had passed since the Enterprise was put in spacedock for repairs, her crew all planetside. Freddey sat in her office at the Hall of Reflection when she heard a knock at her door. The woman she bid enter was young and pretty, with short blonde hair and lovely blue eyes. She walked with a cane.

"Dr. Marcus," Freddey greeted her warmly, "What brings you here?"

"Dr. McCoy said you were the best person to talk to," Carol said sheepishly.

"About what?"

"May I sit?"

"Absolutely, doctor. We don't wanna strain your leg. Len would kill me."

"Oh, please, call me Carol."

Freddey inclined her head, giving Carol time to sit and sitting herself. Carol chewed her lip and avoided Freddey's eyes for nearly a minute before she finally muttered, "McCoy said you were the best person to talk to about… about being betrayed by your parents."

Heat crept into Freddey's face and neck.

"Well, he's certainly right about that," she replied, averting her eyes.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have-"

"No, it's alright. Like I said, McCoy was right. I know more about it than most. Did he tell you how I know?"

"No, he only told me I should ask you myself."

Carol's eyes were bright and wet and a bit curious. Freddey liked her. She was smart and fierce and brave.

"You talk first. Why don't you tell me what's bothering you, Carol?"

"Didn't I already?"

Carol's father was ADM Marcus, who'd recently betrayed all of Starfleet and gotten his head crushed for his troubles. At the time, Freddey had rather felt he'd gotten his comeuppance. Now, though… Carol certainly doesn't deserve any of this. She didn't deserve to watch him die like that. Freddey repressed a shudder as she remembered Carol's scream. She must have paused for a long enough time, as Carol continued, "It just doesn't seem fair."

"Things like this usually aren't."

"No one knows what my father did. I mean, the crew of the Enterprise does, and Starfleet admiralty, but everyone else is somehow treating him like a hero. I can't get away from people who come up to me to tell me how brave and wonderful he was, and I have to keep pretending that I'm proud of him, that I'm not ashamed to be his daughter. I don't know if I can keep it up much longer. He just-… He changed, and I don't know when or why or what made him think that war and death and genocide were the best answers for the Federation's problems."

A tear rolled down her cheek. One of her hands absently kneaded at her injured thigh. Carol had been through so much, and the truth must have been eating her up inside.

"I'm afraid my experience was the opposite," Freddey told her, "Plenty of people knew what my parents were and what they had done and kept trying to fix me."

"What did your parents do?" Carol asked softly.

"They handed me over to the government of Tarsus IV to be killed in the massacre," she replied simply, "I was eleven, their youngest child, their only daughter, and they just handed me over when the police came for me, sold me for their own lives."

"Oh, god… that's awful."

Freddey shrugged, saying, "It's what happened. I ratted them out when Pike rescued us. They were arrested and sent to prison for… oh, there were several charges against them. My grandmother forced me and my brothers to go see them after they were convicted, wanted us to forgive them, but we wouldn't do it. Honestly, I still haven't."

"Are they still in prison? I would assume they were sentenced to life."

"They were, but they committed suicide not long after our visit. Her mother tried to blame us for them killing themselves, said we should've forgiven them for what they did and maybe they'd be alive. I told her they'd be in prison no matter what and maybe she should be more concerned about what they did to me. She almost hit me, and I thought Grandma was gonna deck her."

Carol giggled at that, cheering slightly. Freddey smiled at her, said, "I know it's hard to know your parents weren't as great as you always thought, but it seemed to me your father really did love you. That's more than I ever got from my parents. Somewhere along the way he just got misguided and did some bad things… but he loved you and he didn't want you hurt. He may have died poorly, but at least you had that."

"Why do you think he did it?" Carol asked quietly.

"Honestly, I think he thought he was doing the right thing. I don't think it was right, and I don't think we should condone his actions, but I believe he convinced himself he was right."

"But what do I do when people come to me with condolences and kind words about my father? I can't tell them he was horrible."

"I wish I had better advice, but all I can say is smile and tell them thank you, since the truth is so confidential none of us should even know it. Maybe one day we can tell the truth, but not for a long time. Until then, we smile and nod and say 'Thank you for your kind words.' That's all we can do."

Carol nodded and briefly fell silent before asking, "Lieutenant-"

"Please, it's Freddey."

"Freddey… if I may ask… why didn't you forgive your parents?"

"Have you forgiven your father?"

"I-… I think so."

"Why did you forgive him?"

Carol seemed taken aback by the question. She mouthed like a fish for a few moments, struggling for words. All she was able to get out was a stammered, "Well, he-he loved me… and I loved him."

"There you have it, then."

"What?"

"Your father loved you. My parents never gave a damn," Freddey explained, keeping her voice level, "They tried to get me to lie on the stand, to say they begged for my life, that they were shattered by my Choosing. They weren't. They offered me up like a sacrificial lamb just to save their own skins. Kodos ordered my execution personally, ordered my parents to hand me over so they could live. Your father was at least under the delusion that he could save other people. My parents were only concerned with their own lives," Freddey sighed and scrubbed at her face, "Nothing about Tarsus IV was forgivable or redeemable."

Carol spoke up, "There's you."

The laugh that escaped Freddey's lips was humorless as she replied, "Yeah… Yeah, there's me."

"Well, to me, that ordeal didn't break you. I think it made you stronger, like steel tempered by fire, strong enough to deal with anything that comes your way."

"Funny, I was gonna say the same thing about you, Carol."

It was good to see Carol smile again, however briefly, for she quickly frowned again, asking, "Freddey, how's Kirk doing? I haven't heard anything."

Freddey averted her eyes, swallowing hard. She replied simply, "I'm praying for him."

The other woman fell silent. It had been nearly two weeks, and Jim had shown no signs of waking up anytime soon. Leonard said they couldn't be sure when he would wake, since his body had to rebuild all its cells. It could be a year or it could be tomorrow. There was just no way of knowing. Freddey knew that for Len and Spock, not knowing was the worst of it.

"He's a good man, Captain Kirk," Carol said at last, "I… I'm sorry this happened to him."

"Nothing happened to Jim. He did this to himself knowing damn well what would happen. You're right about one thing, though."

"About what?"

"He is a good man."

"You're close to him."

It was not a question.

"I know Jim Kirk better than anyone else now Pike is dead," Freddey replied, "He did what he did because he was sure he could save the crew and ship. He thought of nothing else."

"He is alive, though, isn't he?"

"Well… he's breathing. He's got a heartbeat. There's even brain function. He just hasn't woken up yet… and Len isn't sure when he will. It's the waiting game."

"I hope he wakes soon."

"Me, too."

A comfortable silence fell over them. Freddey liked Carol. She was smart and kind and loyal. Those were Freddey's favorite traits in a person when honesty was added. Maybe Carol could hone her honesty a bit, but overall she was a good person.

"I must be going," Carol stated after a long moment, rising from her seat, "I've got a meeting in thirty minutes across campus, and I'm not moving so quickly as of late. Thank you for speaking with me today, Freddey. It did help a great deal."

"Come see me anytime. Door's always open, Carol."

The weapons engineer offered her a smile and left the office, holding the door for a hulking security officer who quickly broke down sobbing over the loss of his best friend who'd been sucked into space and that he didn't know what to tell the dead man's mother; she sat with him for an hour. When he left, still upset but soothed, Freddey decided she needed a bit of a break and stepped out to take a walk.

The sun shone bright over the Starfleet Academy grounds, glinting off glass and steel and water. A soft wind blew, picking up the scents of fresh grass and smoking metal. She looked toward the part of the city that was charred and smoking and twisted and suddenly felt very selfish for only praying for Jim over the last few weeks. She'd almost forgotten the rest of the city. The sun warmed her as she meandered around campus, waving at a friendly face every now and again.

"Freddey! Freddey!" a familiar voice called.

She turned to find Chekov sprinting to her. He could've come from anywhere but didn't look particularly winded.

"Pavel, what is it? What happened?"

"It's the keptin!" he told her excitedly.

Her stomach rolled.

"He's awake!" he continued, "Dr. McCoy told me to come find you!"

Before she had time to react, he grabbed her hand and led her to Starfleet Medical. Len and Spock were both hovering over Jim protectively as Freddey stepped into the room. She got a grin from Len, a slight incline of the head from Spock, a tired smile from Jim. She rushed to Jim and pressed herself into his arms, willing herself not to cry. Jim hugged her tight, his face buried in her hair.

"Hey, watch it, Fred. Don't squeeze ol' Jimbo here too hard," Len told her.

"Yeah, I know, he's so fragile," she teased.

"Okay, just keep makin' fun of the convalescent," Jim whined playfully.

"James Tiberius Kirk, you put me through hell. I think I'm entitled to make fun of you if I want."

"Yeah, alright, I guess you are."

"Good, now shut up and hug me again, you idiot."

Freddey pressed close once more, never happier to see her best friend in a hospital bed.

* * *

_Forgiving is love's toughest work, and love's biggest risk. If you twist it into something it was never meant to be, it can make you a doormat or an insufferable manipulator. Forgiving seems almost unnatural. Our sense of fairness tells us people should pay for the wrong they do. But forgiving is love's power to break nature's rule._ ~Lewis B. Smedes


End file.
